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BOOK    OF    ELEGIES 


EDITED    WITH  NOTES 
BY 

JAMES    BALDWIN,    Ph.D. 

Author  of  "  Six  Centuries  of  English  Poetry,"  "  The  Famous 
Allegories,"  "  The  Book  Lover,"  etc. 


SILVER,    BURDETT    &    COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 
New  York         BOSTON  Chicago 


EC.  i 


Copyright,  1893, 
*r  SILVER,   BURDETT  &  COMPANY. 


PUBLISHERS'    NOTE. 


This  is  the  third  volume  of  a  series  of  Select  English 
Classics  which  the  publishers  have  in  course  of  preparation. 
The  series  will  include  an  extensive  variety  of  selections 
chosen  from  the  different  departments  of  English  literature, 
and  arranged  and  annotated  for  the  use  of  classes  in  schools. 
It  will  embrace,  among  other  things,  representative  specimens 
from  all  the  best  English  writers,  whether  of  poetry  or  of 
prose ;  selections  from  English  dramatic  literature,  especially 
of  the  eighteenth  and  nineteenth  centuries ;  choice  extracts 
from  the  writings  of  the  great  essayists;  selections  from 
famous  English  allegories ;  a  volume  of  elegies  and  elegiacal 
poetry ;  studies  of  English  prose  fiction,  with  illustrative  speci- 
mens, etc.  Each  volume  will  contain  copious  notes,  critical, 
explanatory,  and  biographical,  besides  the  necessary  vocabu- 
laries, glossaries,  and  indexes ;  and  the  series  when  complete 
will  present  a  varied  and  comprehensive  view  of  much  that 
is  best  in  English  literature.  For  supplementary  reading,  as 
well  as  for  systematic  class  instruction,  the  books  will  possess 
many  peculiarly  valuable  as  well  as  novel  features ;  while  their 
attractive  appearance,  combined  with  the  sterling  quality  of 
their  contents,  will  commend  them  for  general  reading  and 
make  them  desirable  acquisitions,  for  every  library. 

3 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Fore  Word 6 

The  Song  of  Thyrsis  touching  the  Sorrow  of  Daphnis         .  7 

Prose  Version 9 

Notes 13 

The  Lament  for  Adonis 19 

Prose  Version.     Rev.  J.  Banks  .         .         .         .         .         .21 

Metrical  Version.     Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning        ...  24 

Notes 29 

The  Lament  for  Bion 37 

Prose  Version.     Andrew  Lang  .......  39 

Notes 44 

On  the  Death  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney 49 

Astrophel.     Edmund  Spenser 51 

A  Pastorall  Aeglogue.     Z.  B 59 

Notes 64 

Dirge  for  Imogen.      William  Shakespeare 73 

Dirge  in  Cymbeline.      William  Collins 76 

Lycidas.     John  Milton 77 

Notes 85 

Elegy  written  in  a  Country  Churchyard.     Thomas  Gray      .  95 

Notes 104 

4 


CONTENTS.  5 

FACE 

Adonais.     Percy  Bysshe  Shelley 113 

Notes 134 

In  Memoriam.    Alfred  Tennyson 151 

Notes 261 

Elegiacal  Poems 277 

Epitaph.     Robert  Wilde 279 

Epitaph.     Anon 279 

Epitaph  on  the  Countess  of  Pembroke.     Ben  Jonson         .         .279 

Epitaph  on  Elizabeth  L.  H.     Ben  Jonson          ....  280 

A  Sea  Dirge.      William  Shakespeare 280 

A  Land  Dirge.     John  Webster 281 

Soldiers'  Dirge.      William  Collins 281 

Rose  Aylmer.      Walter  Savage  Landor 282 

A  Pagan  Epitaph.     Anon. 282 

Bereavement.      William  Wordsworth 283 

Epitaph  on  Mrs.  Margaret  Paston.  John  Dry  den  .  .  .  283 
Epitaph   on   the    Excellent   Countess   of    Huntingdon.      Lord 

Falkland 284 

On  the  Religious  Memory  of  Mrs.  Catherine  Thomson.     John 

Milton 284 

Mary.     Charles  Wolfe 285 

Hester.      Charles  Lamb 286 

The  Shepherd's  Elegy.      William  Browne         ....  287 

Elegy  on  Captain  Matthew  Henderson.     Robert  Burns     .         .  289 

The  Minstrel's  Roundelay.      Thomas  Chatter  ton         .         .         .  292 

Thanatopsis.      William  Cullen  Bryant 294 

Friends  departed.     Henry  Vaughan 297 

Notes 299 


FORE   WORD. 


The  Idyls  of  Theocritus,  Bion,  and  Moschus  have  served  as 
models  for  no  inconsiderable  portion  of  our  modern  pastoral  and 
elegiac  poetry.  They  have  been  imitated  by  Spenser,  improved 
upon  by  Milton,  parodied  by  Pope  and  Gay,  copied  after  by  Shelley, 
and  loved  and  admired  by  all  the  poets.  By  the  three  specimens 
presented  in  this  book  most  of  the  elegies  in  our  own  language 
have  been  either  directly  or  remotely  suggested,  or  in  some  way 
modified.  No  apology,  therefore,  would  seem  necessary  for  the 
admission  of  these  translations  from  the  Greek  into  a  volume  of 
select  English  classics.  No  Book  of  Elegies  could  be  complete 
without  them. 


THE  SONG  OF   THYRSIS 


TOUCHING 


THE   SORROW    OF    DAPHNIS 

FROM  THE  FIRST  IDYL   OF  THEOCRITUS 
Written  ih  Greek  about  370  B.C. 


An  English  Prose  Version 


The  shepherd  Thyrsis,  famed  for  his  skill  in  song,  sat  one  day  in  the 
shade  of  a  pine,  close  by  a  clear,  cool  spring  that  gushed  up  out  of  the  earth. 
A  goatherd  lounged  at  his  ease  on  the  grass  and  played  sweet  tunes  upon  his 
pipe.  "  Ah,  friend"  said  Thyrsis,  "  thou  dost  in  truth  play  well  upon  that 
reed:  next  to  Pan  thou  shouldst  have  the  prize.  If  he  take  the  horned 
he-goat,  then  the  she-goat  shall  be  thine  ;  but  if  he  choose  the  she-goat  for  his 
meed,  then  the  year-old  kid  must  fall  to  thee."  Well  pleased  was  the 
goatherd  with  this  high  praise,  and  he  paid  it  back  in  kind.  "  Thy  song, 
good  Thyrsis"  said  he,  "  is  far  more  sweet  than  that  of  the  stream  as  it  falls 
from  the  edge  of  the  rock.  If  the  Muses  for  their  meed  bear  off  the  young 
ewe,  thou  shall  have  the  lamb  for  thy  gift ;  but  if  it  please  them  best  to  take 
the  lamb,  then  thou  shall  take  the  ewe  as  thine  own."  "  Come,  sit  thou  here 
and  pipe  me  a  song,"  said  Thyrsis,  "  and  I  will  watch  thy  flocks."  "  Nay" 
quoth  the  goatherd,  "  it  is  not  right  good  for  us  to  pipe  at  mid- day.  We  fear 
Pan.  But,  come  with  me  to  the  shade  of  yon  elm,  and  do  thou  sing  to  me 
the  song  of  Daphnis  and  his  grief  .  If  thou  wilt  but  sing  as  thou  didst  one 
day,  I  will  let  thee  milk  —  ay,  three  times  —  a  goat  that  hath  twins,  and 
whose  milk  doth  fill  two  pails.  A  deep  bowl  of  ivy -wood,  too,  will  I  give 
thee,  rubbed  with  sweet  bees-wax,  —  a  two-eared  bowl,  carved  with  great 
skill,  for  which  I  gave  a  goat  and  a  large  cheese-cake  of  white  milk,  and 
which  has  not  yet  touched  my  lips" 

Thus  urged,  Thyrsis  sang  of  the  sorrow  of  Daphnis* 


Wyt  <Song  of  Ei)grsts 


THE    SORROW   OF   DAPHNIS. 

1  Begin,  ye  Muses  dear,  begin  the  shepherd's  lay  ! 

2  Thyrsis  I  am,  and  this  is  the  song  I  sing  on  Etna's 
slopes. — 3  Where  were  ye,  Nymphs,  when  Daphnis 
pined  and  died  ?  Were  ye  not  then  in  the  far  fair  dells 
where  4Peneus  flows,  or  in  the  vales  where  Pindus  rears 
his  head?  For  ye  staid  not,  I  ween,  by  the  broad 
stream  5  Anapus,  nor  on  the  high  top  of  Etna's  mount, 
nor  yet  on  the  weird  Acis'  banks. 

Begin,  ye  Muses  dear,  begin  the  shepherds  lay  ! 

6  For  him  the  wild  beasts,  for  him  the  wolves  did  cry.  io 
For  him,  when  dead,  the  king  of  beasts  in  the  dark 
woods  wept. 

Begin,  ye  Muses  dear,  begin  the  shepherd's  lay  ! 
At  his  feet  the  kine  grieved  sore,  ay,  herds  of  bulls, 
and  all  the  young  cows  and  sad-faced  calves  did  mourn. 

Begin,  ye  Muses  dear,  begin  the  shepherds  lay  ! 

First  7  Hermes  from  the  hill  did  come,  and  thus  to 
Daphnis  spake :  "  Who  is  it  that  gives  thee  pain,  my 
child  ?     For  the  love  of  whom  dost  thou  pine  and  die  ? " 

9 


10  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

Begin,  ye  Muses  dear,  begin  the  shepherd's  lay  ! 

Then  came  those  who  tend  the  kine,  the  sheep,  and 
the  goats  when  in  the  fields  they  feed,  and  8  all  asked 
him  what  harm  had  caused  him  so  much  pain.  Came, 
too,  9  Priapus,  and  said  :  "  Poor  Daphnis,  why  dost  thou 
grieve,  while  for  thee  the  fair  maid  fleets  through  all  the 
glades  and  past  all  streams  in  search  of  thee  ? " 

Begin,  ye  Muses  dear,  begin  the  shepherds  lay  ! 
"  Ah  !  thou  art  a  swain  too  slack  in  love,  and  now  thou 
10  art  past  help !  They  say  thou  dost  mind  the  cows,  but 
now  thou  art  most  fit  to  keep  the  goats !  For  he  that 
keeps  the  goats,  when  he  marks  the  grown-up  kids  at 
their  play,  looks  on  with  well-pleased  eyes,  and  fain 
would  be  as  they.  And  thou,  when  thou  dost  hear  the 
young  girls  and  see  them  smile,  dost  gaze  with  glad 
eyes,  and  yet  dost  not  join  them  in  the  dance.,, 

Begin,  ye  Muses  dear,  begin  the  shepherds  lay  ! 
Yet  to  these  Daphnis  said  not  one  word ;  but  his  grief 
he  fed,  and  his  own  sad  love  he  bare,  and  bare  it  still 
20  to  the  end  that  stern  fate  at  the  last  did  bring. 

Begin,  ye  Muses  dear,  begin  the  shepherd's  lay  ! 

Ay,  and  there  came,  too,  sweet  10  Cypris,  queen  of 
love,  and  a  smile  was  on  her  face  though  wrath  was  in 
her  heart;  and  to  the  sad  shepherd  thus  she  spake: 
"  Daphnis,  I  did  hear  thy  boast  that  thou  wouldst  n  bend 
Love  to  a  fall !  Hast  not  thou  thine  own  self  been 
bent,  yea,  thrown  by  Love  ?  " 

Begin,  ye  Muses  dear,  begin  the  shepherds  lay  ! 
And  Daphnis  these  words  spake  to   her :    "  Harsh 
30  Cypris,  Cypris  to  be  feared,  Cypris  the  bane  of  men, 


THE  SORROW  OF  DAPHNIS.  11 

now  thou  dost  know  that  my  last  sun  too  soon  will  set ; 
yet  Daphnis  in  realm  of  shades  shall  prove  great  grief 
to  Love. 

Begin>  ye  Muses  dear,  begin  the  shepherd's  lay  ! 

11  As  to  Cypris,  is  it  not  said  that  he  who  kept  the 
herds  — 12  But  get  thee  to  Mount  Ida.  Haste  thee  to 
Anchises.  There  oak  trees  grow ;  here  the  marsh  plants 
thrive,  and  here  the  sweet  hum  of  the  bees  is  heard  at 
the  hives  ! 

Begin,  ye  Muses  dear,  begin  the  shepherd's  lay  !  IO 

"Thy  loved  13 Adonis,  too,  is  still  in  the  bloom  of 
youth,  for  he  tends  the  sheep  and  kills  the  hares,  and 
hunts  wild  beasts  in  the  deep,  dark  wood.  Nay,  go  and 
take  thy  stand  once  more  in  the  u  fight  with  Diomed, 
and  say,  '  I  have  struck  down  Daphnis,  him  who  kept 
the  herds,  come  now  and  try  thy  strength  with  me ! ' 

Begin,  ye  Muses  dear,  begin  the  shepherds  lay  ! 

"  Ye  wolves,  ye  bears,  and  ye  wild  beasts  that  lurk  in 
dens  and  in  the  caves  of  the  hills,  fare  ye  well !  By  you 
no  more  shall  Daphnis  be  seen  in  the  wood,  no  more  in  20 
the  groves  where  grow  the  oaks,  no  more  in  the  dells 
between  the  hills.  Fare  thee  well,  15  Arethusa  ;  and  ye 
brooks,  good  night,  that  pour  down  16Thymbris  your 
clear,  cool  streams. 

Begin,  ye  Muses  dear,  begin  the  shepherd's  lay  / 

"  Here  am  I  —  Daphnis  —  who  tend  in  these  fields 

my  herd  of  young  kine  —  Daphnis,  who  leads  the  bulls 

to  the  cool  stream  that  they  may  drink. 

Begin,  ye  Muses  dear,  begin  the  shepherds  lay  ! 

"  O  Pan,  Pan,  if  thou  art  on  the  high  hills  of  17  Lycaeus,  30 


12  THE  BOOK  OF  ELEGIES. 

or  if  thou  dost  range  o'er  great 18  Maenalus,  haste  thou 
to  the  Sicilian  isle  ;  or  leave  the  far-off  cape  of  19  Helice, 
and  the  tall  cairn  that  marks  the  tomb  of  ^  Lycaon's 
son  —  a  work  which  seems  fair,  yea,  most  fair,  in  the 
eyes  of  the  blessed. 

Now  cease,  ye  Muses  dear,  now  cease  the  shepherd's 

lay  ! 
"  Come,  O  my  prince,  and  take  this  fair  pipe,  sweet 
to  taste  and  smell  from  the  wax-stopped  joints;  take  it, 
io  it  will  fit  thy  lips  well !     For,   in  truth,   I  am  at  last 
21  dragged  by  Love  to  the  dark  land  of  Hades. 

Now  cease,  ye  Muses  dear,  now  cease  the  shepherds 
lay  ! 

22 "  Now  violets  bear,  ye  sharp  briars ;  and  may  ye 
thorns  bear,  violets.  And  may  narcissus  bloom  on  the 
juniper  tree !  May  all  things  be  changed  in  kind,  and 
let  the  pine  bear  pears  —  for  Daphnis  dies  !  And  may 
the  stag  hunt  the  hounds,  and  the  owls  from  the  hills 
sing  songs  more  sweet  than  those  of  the  nightingales." 

20  Now  cease,  ye  Muses  dear,  now  cease  the  shepherds 
lay  ! 
Thus  Daphnis  spake,  and  thus  he  made  an  end :  and 
fain  would  Aphrodite  raise  him  up.  But  all  the  threads 
of  the  ffl  Fates,  I  ween,  were  now  spun  out.  .And  Daph- 
nis went  down  the  u  stream.  The  swift  wave  washed  far 
from  the  land  the  man  the  Muses  loved,  the  man  to  the 
Nymphs  most  dear. 

Now  cease,  ye  Muses  dear,   now  cease  the  shepherd's 
lay  ! 
30      And  now,  give  thou  me  the  she-goat  and  the  bowl, 


THE   SORROW  OF  DAPHNIS.  13 

that  I  may  milk  her  and  pour  it  out,  a  thank-gift  to  the 
Muses.  O  hail,  hail,  ye  Muses  dear,  and  oft-times  hail ! 
And  I  to  you  a  song  more  sweet  than  this  will  sing  ^  in 
the  days  to  come ! 


NOTES. 

The  Author. 

"Theocritus,  the  Bucolic  poet,  was  a  Syracusan  by  extraction,  and  the 
son  of  Simichidas,  as  he  says  himself, '  Simichidas,  pray  whither  through 
the  noon  dost  thou  drag  thy  feet?'  {Idyl  vii.).  Some  say  that  this  was 
an  assumed  name,  for  he  seems  to  have  been  snub-nosed,  and  that  his 
father  was  Praxagoras,  and  his  mother  Philinna.  He  became  the  pupil  of 
Philetas  and  Asclepiades,  of  whom  he  speaks  in  his  seventh  Idyl,  and 
flourished  about  the  time  of  Ptolemy  Lagus.  He  gained  much  fame  for 
his  skill  in  bucolic  poetry.  According  to  some,  his  original  name  was 
Moschus,  and  Theocritus  was  a  name  later  assumed.' '  —  Notice  usually 
prefixed  to  his  Idyls,  translated  by  Andreiv  Lang. 

Of  the  life  of  Theocritus,  but  little  is  known.  He  was  born  probably  at 
Syracuse  about  the  year  315  B.C.,  and  received  at  least  a  portion  of  his 
education  at  Alexandria.  His  early  poetic  efforts  were  so  successful  that 
he  was  rewarded  by  the  patronage  of  Ptolemy  Philadelphus,  in  whose 
honor  some  of  his  Idyls  were  written.  He  afterwards  returned  to  Syra- 
cuse, where  he  spent  the  latter  part  of  his  life,  and  where  much  of  his  best 
work  in  poetry  was  done.  Of  the  date  and  manner  of  his  death,  there  is 
no  trustworthy  record.  He  was  the  inventor  of  pastoral  poetry.  "  He 
stands  alone,  with  a  crowd  of  imitators  at  a  wide  interval  of  merit." 

The  Poem. 

The  Song  of  Thyrsis  is  a  part,  and  the  chief  motifi  of  the  first  Idyl 
of  Theocritus,  of  which  the  following  is  a  brief  analysis :  "  The  shepherd 
Thyrsis  meets  a  goatherd  in  a  shady  place  beside  a  spring,  and  at  his 
invitation,  sings  the  Lament  for  Daphnis.  This  ideal  hero  of  Greek  pas- 
toral song  had  won  for  his  bride  the  fairest  of  the  Nymphs.  Confident  in 
the  strength  of  his  passion,  he  boasted  that  Love  could  never  subdue  him 
to  a  new  affection.  Love  avenged  himself  by  making  Daphnis  desire  a 
strange  maiden,  but  to  this  temptation  he  never  yielded.  The  song  tells 
how  the   cattle  and  the  wild  things  of  the  wood   bewailed   him;    how 


14  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

Hermes  and  Priapus  gave  him  counsel  in  vain;  and  how  with  his  last 
breath  he  retorted  the  taunts  of  the  implacable  Aphrodite.  The  scene  is 
in  Sicily." 

i.  Begin,  ye  Muses  dear.  This  form  of  invocation  has  been  often 
imitated  by  the  later  poets.     See  Moschus's  Lament  for  Bion  (page  39)  :  — 

"  Begin,  ye  Sicilian  Muses,  begin  the  dirge !  " 
Compare  also  with  Virgil,  Eclogue  viii. :  — 

"  Begin  with  me,  my  pipe,  Maenalian  strains !  " 
And  with  Pope,  Pastoral  iii. :  — 

"  Resound,  ye  hills,  resound  my  mournful  strains." 

Also  with  Milton,  Lycidas,  line  15  (see  page  79).  And  with  Spenser, 
Shepheards  Calender,  November  :  — 

"  Morne  now  my  Muse,  now  morne  with  heavy  cheare." 

2.  Thyrsis.  The  name  is  very  common  in  pastoral  poetry.  See  Virgil, 
Eclogue  vii.,  "  In  alternate  verses  the  two  began  to  contend.  These  Cory- 
don,  those  Thyrsis,  each  in  his  turn  recited."     Also  Milton,  L?  Allegro: — 

"  Hard  by  a  cottage  chimney  smokes 
From  betwixt  two  aged  oaks, 
Where  Corydon  and  Thyrsis,  met, 
Are  at  their  savoury  dinner  set." 

3.  Where  were  ye,  Nymphs  ?  Doubtless  having  reference  to  the 
nurturing  care  which  the  Nymphs  had  had  for  Daphnis.  The  line  is  imi- 
tated by  Milton,  Lycidas,  line  50.     Also  by  Pope  in  Pastoral  ii. :  — 

"  Where  stray  ye,  Nymphs,  in  what  lawn  or  grove, 
While  your  Alexis  pines  in  hopeless  love  ?  " 

See  Virgil,  Eclogue  x. :  — 

"  What  groves,  ye  virgin  Naiads,  or  what  lawns  detained  you, 
While  Gallus  pined  with  ill-requited  love  ?  " 

See  also  Shelley's  Adonais,  ii.  1,  and  Spenser's  Astrophel,  128. 

Daphnis.  The  original  Daphnis,  whose  grief  is  celebrated  in  this 
Idyl,  was  the  son  of  Hermes  and  the  friend  of  both  Pan  and  Apollo.  His 
mother  was  a  Nymph,  and  he  was  placed  while  an  infant  in  a  laurel  grove, 
whence  his  name  (from  Or.  daphne,  a  laurel  tree).  He  was  brought  up 
by  the  Nymphs,  and  became  a  shepherd  on  the  slopes  of  Mount  Etna. 


THE  SORROW   OF  DAPHNIS.  15 

There  he  tended  his  sheep,  was  taught  music  by  Pan,  and  invented  bucolic 
poetry  with  which  to  entertain  Artemis  while  she  was  hunting.  A  Naiad, 
who  fell  in  love  with  him,  made  him  swear  never  to  love  any  other  maiden. 
He  kept  his  promise  for  a  time,  but  at  length  became  hopelessly  enam- 
oured of  a  princess.  Thereupon  the  Naiad,  according  to  some,  punished 
him  with  blindness.     Others  say  that  she  changed  him  to  a  stone :  — 

"  This  is  that  modest  shepherd,  he 
That  only  dare  salute,  but  ne'er  could  be 
Brought  to  kiss  any,  hold  discourse,  or  sing, 
Whisper,  or  boldly  ask." 

Fletcher,  The  Faithful  Shepherdess. 

See  Virgil,  Eclogue  v. :  — 

"The  shepherds  wept  Daphnis,  cut  off  by  cruel  death." 

Longos,  a  Greek  sophist  (4th  or  5th  century  a.d.),  wrote  a  prose-pastoral 
love  story  entitled  Daphnis  and  Chloe.  John  Gay  (1 688-1 732)  wrote  a 
poem  with  the  same  title;  and  William  Browne  published  a  pastoral 
called  Daphnis  and  Lycidas  in  1727. 

4.  Peneus.  A  river  in  Thessaly  flowing  through  the  vale  of  Tempe, 
between  the  mountains  Ossa  and  Olympus.  —  Pindus.  A  range  of  moun- 
tains in  northern  Greece. "  If  the  Nymphs  were  here,  they  were  about  four 
hundred  miles  from  Daphnis,  on  Mount  Etna. 

5.  Anapus  and  Acis  were  rivers  in  Sicily,  near  the  foot  of  Mount  Etna. 
In  his  Seventh  Idyl  Theocritus  again  mentions  the  Anapus :  — 

"  Through  Polypheme  did  such  sweet  nectar  glance, 
That  made  the  shepherd  of  Anapus  dance." 

Acis  was  a  Sicilian  shepherd,  the  son  of  Faunus,  and  beloved  by  the  Nymph 
Galatea.  The  monster  Polypheme,  jealous  of  him,  crushed  him  under  a 
huge  rock,  and  his  blood  became  the  river  Acis  (now  Fiume  de  Jaci), 
which  flows  from  under  a  rock  at  the  foot  of  Mount  Etna. 

6.  For  him  the  wild  beasts  did  cry.  Imitated  by  Moschus  in  his 
Lament  for  Bion  (see  page  40).     And  by  Virgil,  Eclogue  v. :  — 

"  Even  the  African  lions  mourned  thy  death." 
Also  by  Pope,  Pastoral  iii. :  — 

"  For  her  the  feather'd  choirs  neglect  their  song." 
Also  by  Spenser,  Shepheards  Calender,  November:  — 

"  The  beastes  in  forrest  wayle  as  they  were  woode." 
Compare  with  A  Pastor  all  Aiglogue  (line  76). 


16  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

7.  Hermes.  Daphnis  was  the  son  of  Hermes,  hence  the  latter  addresses 
him  as  "  my  child."  Hermes  was  especially  worshipped  by  the  shepherds, 
whose  patron  he  was,  and  he  is  often  mentioned  in  connection  with  Pan 
and  the  Muses. 

8.  all  asked  what  harm  had  caused  him  so  much  pain.  Compare 
this  passage  with  Milton's  Lycidas,  lines  91,  92;  also  with  Pope's  Pastoral 
iii.  :  — 

"  Pan  came  and  asked  what  magic  caused  my  smart." 

Theocritus  represents  Hermes,  the  Shepherds,  Pan,  Priapus,  and 
Cypris  as  bewailing  the  misfortunes  of  Daphnis.  Moschus  (see  page  40) 
introduces  Apollo,  the  Satyrs,  the  Priapi,  the  Panes,  and  Echo  as  mourn- 
ing for  Bion;  Milton  (see  page  82)  speaks  of  Neptune,  Camus,  and  St. 
Peter  in  connection  with  the  sorrow  for  Lycidas;  Shelley  (see  page  119) 
introduces  Dreams,  Desires,  Adorations,  Destinies,  Phantasies,  Sorrow, 
Sighs,  and  Pleasure  among  the  mourners  for  Adonais. 

9.  Priapus.  A  god  of  the  gardens,  of  flocks,  of  bees,  and  of  fruitful- 
ness.  Pausanias  says :  "  Priapus  is  honored  elsewhere  by  those  who  keep 
sheep  and  goats  or  stocks  of  bees;  but  the  Lampsakenes  regard  him  more 
than  any  other  of  the  gods,  calling  him  the  son  of  Dionysos  and  Aphro- 
dite." See  Virgil,  Eclogue  vii. :  "  A  pail  of  milk  and  these  cakes,  Priapus, 
are  enough  for  thee  to  expect.  Thou  art  the  keeper  of  a  poor,  ill-tended 
garden." 

10.  Cypris.  Hesiod  (Theog.  188  seq.')  says  that  when  Aphrodite,  the 
goddess  of  love,  sprang  into  life  from  the  foam  of  the  sea,  she  first 
approached  the  island  of  Cythera,  and  then  proceeding  onward,  finally 
landed  upon  Cyprus.  Hence  she  is  sometimes  called  Cypris,  or  the 
Cyprian,  and  sometimes  Cytherea. 

11.  bend  love  to  a  fall.  The  original  Greek  expression  is  a  term 
used  in  describing  wrestling  matches,  and  means  to  master,  to  overthrow. 

12.  But  get  thee  to  Mount  Ida.  By  a  sudden  breaking  off  and  turn 
of  expression  —  called  aposiopesis  —  Daphnis  here  taunts  Aphrodite  by 
bringing  to  remembrance  her  intrigue  with  Anchises  on  Mount  Ida.  For 
an  example  of  the  similar  use  of  this  figure,  see  Exodus  xxxii.  32;  also 
Virgil,  sEneid,  i.  135:  "Dare  you,  winds,  without  my  sovereign  leave  to 
embroil  heaven  and  earth,  and  raise  such  mountains?  Whom  I —  But  first 
it  is  right  to  assuage  the  tumultuous  waves." 

13.  Adonis.  For  a  brief  version  of  the  story  of  Adonis,  see  page  29 
of  this  volume.     Observe  Daphnis's  taunting  manner. 

14.  For  a  description  of  the  fight  with  Diomed,  see  Homer's  Iliad,  v. 
336 :  "  Now  Tydeides  (Diomed)  had  made  onslaught  with  pitiless  weapon 
on  the  Cyprian,  knowing  how  she  was  a  coward  goddess,  and  none  of  those 


THE  SORROW  OF  DAPHNIS.  17 

that  have  mastery  in  battle  of  the  warriors,  —  no  Athene  she  nor  Enyo, 
waster  of  cities.  .  .  .  And  over  her  Diomed  of  the  loud  war-cry  shouted 
afar :  ■  Refrain  thee,  thou  daughter  of  Zeus,  from  war  and  fighting.  Is  it 
not  enough  that  thou  beguilest  feeble  women?  But  if  in  battle  thou 
wilt  mingle,  verily  I  deem  that  thou  shalt  shudder  at  the  name  of  battle 
if  thou  hear  it  even  from  afar.'  " 

15.  Arethusa.  The  Nymph  Arethusa,  being  pursued  by  the  river- 
god  Alpheus,  was  changed  into  the  fountain  of  Arethusa  in  the  island  of 
Ortygia,  near  the  Sicilian  coast.  She  was  sometimes  reckoned  as  a  Nymph 
of  Sicily,  and  as  the  special  patron  of  pastoral  poetry.  Virgil,  Eclogue  x.  I, 
invokes  her  aid:  "Grant  unto  me,  O  Arethusa,  this  last  essay."  See 
Milton,  Lycidas,  line  84;   also  Shelley's  beautiful  poem,  Arethusa. 

16.  Thymbris,  a  mountain  in  Sicily. 

17.  Lycaeus,  a  lofty  mountain  in  Arcadia,  the  birthplace  of  Pan  and 
one  of  his  chief  sanctuaries. 

18.  Maenalus,  a  mountain  in  Arcadia,  the  favorite  haunt  of  Pan.  It 
was  covered  with  pine-trees.  See  Virgil,  Eclogue  viii. :  "  Maenalus  always 
has  a  vocal  grove  and  shaking  pines;  he  ever  hears  the  lover  of  shepherds, 
and  Pan,  the  first  who  suffered  not  the  reeds  to  be  neglected." 

ig.  Helice  was  a  city  of  Achaia,  swallowed  up  by  an  earthquake  in 
373  B.C.  Reference  is  made  here  most  probably  to  some  other  locality  of 
the  same  name,  perhaps  in  Arcadia,  as  indicated  by  the  close  connection 
of  the  thought  with  Lycaon. 

20.  Lycaon,  king  of  Arcadia.  For  his  impiety  he,  with  all  his  sons 
except  Nyctimus,  the  youngest,  was  slain  with  lightning;  or,  according  to 
other  stories,  they  were  changed  to  wolves  (Gr.  lukos,  a  wolf).  Among 
the  pastoral  poets  tombs  are  often  referred  to  as  prominent  landmarks. 

ax.   dragged  by  Love.     See  Pope's  Ode  on  St.  Cecilia's  Day  ;  — 

"  Love,  strong  as  death,  the  poet  led 
To  the  pale  nations  of  the  dead." 

22.  Imitated  by  Pope,  Pastoral  iii. :  — 

"  Let  opening  roses  knotted  oaks  adorn, 
And  liquid  amber  drop  from  every  thorn." 

See  Luke  vi.  44. 

23.  See  note  34,  on  Lycidas,  page  90. 

24.  The  stream  of  Acheron,  which  the  shades  of  the  dead  must  cross 
before  entering  Hades. 

25.  in  the  days  to  come.  See  the  closing  lines  in  Adonis,  "Thou 
must  wail  again  next  year."  And  in  Lycidas,  "To-morrow  to  fresh  woods 
and  pastures  new." 


18  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

"There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  bucolic  vein  was  early  and  strongly 
developed  among  Sicilian  shepherds.  The  use  of  the  shepherd's  pipe  and 
of  responsive  song  was  early  developed  in  the  country,  and  from  the  oldest 
time  in  some  peculiar  relation  to  the  shepherd  life  in  the  mountains  of 
Arcadia  —  worshipping  the  same  god,  Pan,  honoring  the  same  traditions, 
and  pursuing  the  same  habits.  It  even  appears  to  me  that  in  the  great 
days  of  Gelon  and  Hieron  there  was  a  considerable  emigration  from 
Arcadia  to  Sicily,  for  we  know  that  their  mercenary  armies  were  recruited 
from  Arcadia,  and  doubtless  the  veterans  were  better  rewarded  with  upland 
pastures  in  rich  Sicily  than  by  returning  to  their  harsh  and  wintry  home. 
But  the  Arcadian  music  found  itself  already  at  home  in  a  country  where 
the  legends  of  the  shepherd  Daphnis  were  older  than  Stesichorus,  and  had 
been  raised  by  him  into  classical  literature.  According  to  various  authori- 
ties, Daphnis  was  brought  up  in  a  grove  of  laurels,  and  being  an  accom- 
plished singer,  and  taught  by  Pan  to  play  on  the  pipe,  he  became  the 
companion  of  Artemis  in  her  hunting,  and  delighted  her  with  his  music. 
His  tragic  end,  which  is  connected  with  his  love  for  a  nymph  and  his  faith- 
lessness, was  variously  told,  and  these  versions  were  the  favorite  subject 
of  pastoral  lays,  which  were  attached  to  the  worship  of  Artemis  through- 
out Sicily,  and  celebrated  in  musical  contests  at  her  feasts  in  Syracuse, 
where  shepherds  sang  alternately  in  what  was  called  Priapean  verse.  .  .  . 
The  shepherds  of  Theocritus  are  not  pure  and  innocent  beings,  living  in 
a  garden  of  Eden  or  an  imaginary  Arcadia,  free  from  sin  and  care.  They 
are  men  of  like  passion  as  we  are,  gross  and  mean  enough  for  ordinary 
life.  But  though  artificially  painted  by  a  literary  townsman,  they  are  real 
shepherds,  living  in  a  real  country,  varying  in  culture  and  refinement,  but 
all  speaking  human  sentiments  without  philosophy  and  artifice.  ...  It 
were  unjust  to  deny  Theocritus  the  noble  position  he  deserves  among  the 
great  and  matchless  masters  of  Greek  poetry,  though  to  him  the  Muse 
came  last,  *  as  to  one  born  out  of  due  season.' "  —  Mahaffy. 


THE   LAMENT   FOR  ADONIS 

AN   IDYL 

INTENDED    TO  BE  SUNG  AT  THE  SPRING   FESTIVAL 
IN  ALEXANDRIA  IN  HONOR   OF  ADONIS 

THE  FIRST  IDYL  OF  BION  OF  SMYRNA 
Written  in  Greek  about  265  b.c. 


I.    An  English  Prose  Version  by  Rev.  J.  Banks 
II.    An  English  Metrical  Version  by  Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning 


The  oldest  of  love  stories  :  The  Sun  looked  down  and  smiled  upon  the 
Earth.  And  she  beholding  him  in  his  beauty,  put  on  her  many-hued  gar- 
ments and  joyfully  claimed  him  as  her  own.  Then  the  Loves  danced  at 
their  betrothal,  and  the  Father  of  all  blessed  their  union.  And  infields  and 
forests,  in  upland  glades  and  lowland  meadows,  their  nuptial  song  was 
sung ;  and  life  and  gladness,  youth  and  beauty,  sprang  everywhere  into 
being.  But,  as  the  Seasons  passed,  the  unwilling  Sun  was  wooed  by  envious 
Darkness,  his  light  was  obscured  by  clouds,  his  glory  was  dimmed,  his  beauty 
was  shrouded  with  shade.  On  the  wooded  hill-tops  he  lingered  and  lan- 
guished, loath  to  leave  his  lovely  bride.  But  at  length  the  queen  of  the 
shadow-land  prevailed,  and  carried  him  away  to  her  gloomy  abode.  Earth 
lost  her  lovely  lord  and  with  him  her  matchless  beauty.  "  Woe,  woe,"  the 
groves  lamented;  and  the  oak  trees  in  the  valley  shuddered  for  grief.  The 
rivulets  ceased  their  laughter,  and  the  mountain  brooks  stood  still.  The 
leaves  of  the  forest  flushed  red  in  their  anguish,  and  in  every  field  and 
wooded  dell  Earth  wailed  piteously  a  wild  dirge  for  her  lover.  Then, 
touched  at  the  sight  of  the  universal  sorrow,  the  All- father  decreed  that  after 
six  months  had  passed,  the  Sun  should  return  to  his  bride,  and,  renewing 
his  youth,  should  again  gladden  the  Earth  with  his  caresses.  Six  months 
in  every  twelve  he  should  smile  upon  her ;  six  months  in  every  twelve  he 
should  abide  in  the  land  of  shadows. 

The  Sun  is  Adonis;  the  Earth  is  Venus,  sometimes  called  Cytherea ; 
the  queen  of  the  shadow-land  is  stern  Persephone,  the  maiden  of  Hades. 
While  hunting  in  the  forest,  Adonis  is  slain  by  a  cruel  beast — a  fierce 
wild-boar.     Persephone  carries  him  away  to  the  realms  of  death. 

Venus  wails  for  Adonis  ;  the  Loves  join  in  the  lament. 


W$t  ILament  for  aUoni». 

PROSE   VERSION. 


oXKo 


I  wail  for1  Adonis  ;  beauteous  Adonis  is  dead. 

Dead  is  beauteous  Adonis;  the  Loves  join  in  the 
wail.  2 Sleep  no  more,  Venus,  in  purple  vestments; 
rise,  wretched  goddess,  in  thy  robes  of  woe,  and  beat 
thy  bosom,  and  say  to  all,  "  Beauteous  Adonis  hath 
perished." 

/  wail  for  Adonis  ;  the  Loves  join  in  the  wail. 

Low  lies  beauteous  Adonis  on  the  mountains,  having 
his  white  thigh  smitten  by  a  tusk,  a  white  tusk,  and  he 
inflicts  pain  on  Venus,  as  he  breathes  out  his  life  10 
faintly ;  but  adown  his  white  skin  trickles  the  black 
blood ;  and  his  eyes  are  glazed  'neath  the  lids,  and  the 
rose  flies  from  his  lip ;  and  round  about  it  dies  also  the 
kiss  which  Venus  will  never  relinquish.  To  Venus, 
indeed,  his  kiss,  even  though  he  lives  not,  is  pleasant, 
yet  Adonis  knew  not  that  she  kissed  him  as  he  died. 

/  wail  for  Adonis  ;  the  Loves  wail  in  concert. 

A  cruel,  cruel  wound  hath  Adonis  in  his  thigh,  but 
a  greater   wound   doth   3Cytherea  bear  at  her  heart. 
Around  that  youth  indeed  faithful  hounds  whined,  and  20 
4 Oread   Nymphs  wept;  but  Aphrodite,  having  let  fall 
her  braided  hair,  wanders  up  and  down  the  glades,  sad, 


22  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

unkempt,  unsandalled,  and  the  brambles  tear  her  as  she 
goes,  and  cull  her  sacred  blood :  then  wailing  pierc- 
ingly, she  is  borne  through  long  valleys,  crying  for  her 
5  Assyrian  spouse,  and  calling  on  her  youth.  But 
around  him  dark  blood  was  gushing,  and  his  breasts 
were  empurpled  from  his  thighs,  and  the  parts  of  the 
body  white  before,  became  now  deep  red. 

Alas,  alas  for  Cy  there  a  ;  the  Loves  join  in  the  wail. 
She  hath  lost  her  beauteous  spouse,  she  hath  lost  with 

io  him  her  divine  beauty.  Fair  beauty  had  Venus  when 
Adonis  was  living ;  but  with  Adonis  perished  the  fair 
form  of  Venus,  alas,  alas !  All  mountains  and  the  oaks 
say,  "  Alas  for  Adonis  !  "  And  6  rivers  sorrow  for  the 
woes  of  Aphrodite,  and  springs  on  the  mountains  weep 
for  her  Adonis,  and  flowers  redden  from  grief ;  whilst 
Cytherea  sings  mournfully  along  all  woody  mountain 
passes,  and  through  cities.  Alas,  alas  for  Cytherea, 
beauteous  Adonis  hath  perished !  And  Echo  cried  in 
response,  "  Beauteous  Adonis  hath  perished  !  "     7  Who 

20  would  not  have  lamented  the  dire  love  of  Venus  ? 
Alas !  alas !  when  she  saw,  when  she  perceived  the 
wound  of  Adonis,  which  none  might  stay,  when  she  saw 
gory  blood  about  his  wan  thigh,  unfolding  wide  her 
arms,  she  sadly  cried,  "  Stay,  ill-fated  Adonis !  Adonis, 
stay,  that  I  may  find  thee  for  the  last  time,  that  I  may 
enfold  thee  around,  and  mingle  kisses  with  kisses. 
Rouse  thee  a  little,  Adonis,  and  again  this  last  time  kiss 
me ;  kiss  me  just  so  far  as  there  is  life  in  thy  kiss,  till 
from  thy  heart  thy  spirit  shall  have  ebbed  into  my  lips 

30  and  soul,  and  I  shall  have  drained  thy  sweet  love-potion, 
and  have  drunk  out  thy  love ;  and  I  will  treasure  this 
kiss,  even  as  Adonis  himself,  since  thou,  ill-fated  one, 


THE  LAMENT  FOR  ADONIS.  23 

dost  flee  from  me.  Thou  fiiest  afar,  O  Adonis,  and 
comest  unto  8  Acheron,  and  its  gloomy,  cruel  king  ;  but 
wretched  I  live,  and  am  a  goddess,  and  cannot  follow 
thee.  Take,  9  Proserpine,  my  spouse  :  for  thou  art  thy- 
self far  more  powerful  than  I,  and  the  whole  of  what 
is  beautiful  falls  to  thy  share ;  yet  I  am  all-hapless, 
and  feel  insatiate  grief,  and  mourn  for  Adonis,  since  to 
my  sorrow  he  is  dead,  and  I  am  afraid  of  thee!  Art 
thou  dying,  O  thrice-regretted  ?  Then  10  my  longing  is 
fled  as  a  dream ;  and  widowed  is  Cytherea,  and  idle  are  10 
the  Loves  along  my  halls ;  and  with  thee  has  my 
11  charmed  girdle  been  undone  ;  nay,  why,  rash  one, 
didst  thou  hunt?  Beauteous  as  thou  wert,  12wast  thou 
mad  enough  to  contend  with  wild  beasts? " 

Thus  lamented  Venus  ;  the  Loves  join  in  the  wail. 

Alas,  alas,  for  Cytherea,  beauteous  Adonis  has  per- 
ished !  The  13  Paphian  goddess  sheds  as  many  tears  as 
Adonis  pours  forth  blood ;  and  these  all  on  the  ground 
become  flowers  :  14  the  blood  begets  a  rose,  and  the  tears 
the  anemone.  Lament  no  more,  Venus,  thy  wooer  in  20 
the  glades :  there  is  a  goodly  couch,  there  is  a  bed  of 
leaves  ready  for  Adonis ;  this  bed  of  thine,  Cytherea, 
dead  Adonis  occupies ;  and  though  a  corpse,  he  is  beau- 
tiful,—  a  Beautiful  corpse,  as  it  were  sleeping. 

Lay  him  down  on  the  soft  vestments  in  which  he  was 
wont  to  pass  the  night ;  in  which  with  thee  along  the 
night  he  would  take  his  holy  sleep  on  a  couch  all  of 
gold ;  yearn  thou  for  Adonis,  sad-visaged  though  he  be 
now ;  and  15  lay  him  amid  chaplets  and  flowers ;  all  with 
him,  since  he  is  dead,  ay,  16  all  flowers  have  become  30 
withered ;  but  sprinkle  him  with  myrtles,  sprinkle  him 
with  unguents,  with  perfumes :  perish  all  perfumes, 
thy  perfume,  Adonis,  hath  perished.     Delicate  Adonis 


24  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

reclines  in  purple  vestments;  and  about  him  weeping 
Loves  set  up  the  wail,  having  their  17  locks  shorn  for 
Adonis ;  —  and  one  was  trampling  on  his  arrows,  another 
on  his  bow,  and  another  was  18  breaking  his  well- 
feathered  quiver ;  and  one  has  loosed  the  sandal  of 
Adonis,  while  another  is  carrying  water  in  golden  ewers, 
and  a  third  is  bathing  his  thighs  ;  and  another  behind 
him  is  fanning  Adonis  with  his  wings. 

The  Loves   join   in  the  wail  for  Cytherea  herself: 

io  Hymenaeus  has  quenched  every  torch  at  the  door-posts, 
and  shredded  the  nuptial  wreath;  and  no  more  is 
19 Hymen,  no  more  Hymen  the  song  that  is  sung,  alas! 
alas !  is  chanted.  Alas,  alas  for  Adonis !  wail  the  Graces, 
far  more  than  Hymenaeus,  for  the  son  of  ^Cinyras, 
saying  one  with  another,  "  Beauteous  Adonis  hath  per- 
ished !  "  and  far  more  piercingly  speak  they  than  thou, 
21  Dione.  The  Muses,  too,  strike  up  the  lament  for 
Adonis,  and  invoke  him  by  song,  but  he  heeds  them 
not;  not  indeed  that  he  is  unwilling,  but  Proserpine 

20  does  not  release  him.  Cease,  Cytherea,  thy  laments ; 
refrain  this  day  from  thy  dirges.  ^Thou  must  wail  again 
and  weep  again  another  year. 


W$z  lament  for  ^fronts* 

METRICAL    VERSION. 

/  mourn  for 1 Adonis  —  Adonis  is  dead ; 

Fair  Adonis  is  dead,  and  the  Loves  are  lamenting. 
2  Sleep,  Cypris,  no  more  on  thy  purple-strewed  bed ; 

Arise,  wretch  stoled  in  black,  beat  thy  breast  unre- 
lenting, 
And  shriek  to  the  worlds,  "  Fair  Adonis  is  dead !  " 


THE  LAMENT  FOR  ADONIS.  25 

/  mourn  for  Adonis  —  the  Loves  are  lamenting. 
He  lies  on  the  hills  in  his  beauty  and  death ; 
The  white  tusk  of  a  boar  has  transpierced  his  white 
thigh. 
3  Cytherea  grows  mad  at  his  thin,  gasping  breath, 
While  the  black  blood  drips  down  on  the  pale  ivory, 
And  his  eyeballs  lie  quenched  with  the  weight  of  his 
brows ; 
The  rose  fades  from  his  lips,  and  upon  them  just  parted 

The  kiss  dies  the  goddess  consents  not  to  lose, 
Though  the  kiss  of  the  dead  cannot  make  her  light- 
hearted  ; 
He  knows  not  who  kisses  him  dead  in  the  dews.  10 


/  mourn  for  Adonis  —  the  Loves  are  lamenting. 

Deep,  deep  in  the  thigh  is  Adonis's  wound ; 
But  a  deeper,  is  Cypris's  bosom  presenting. 

The  youth  lieth  dead  while  his  dogs  howl  around, 
And  the  4  nymphs  weep  aloud  from  the  mists  of  the 
hill, 

And  the  poor  Aphrodite,  with  tresses  unbound, 
All  dishevelled,  unsandalled,  shrieks  mournful  and  shrill 

Through  the  dusk  of  the  groves.    The  thorns,  tearing 
her  feet, 
Gather  up  the  red  flower  of  her  blood  which  is  holy, 

Each  footstep  she  takes ;  and  the  valleys  repeat 
The  sharp  cry  she  utters,  and  draw  it  out  slowly. 

She  calls  on  her  spouse,  her  5  Assyrian,  on  him 
Her  own  youth,  while  the  dark  blood  spreads  over  his 
body, 

The  chest  taking  hue  from  the  gash  in  the  limb, 
And  the  bosom  once  ivory  turning  to  ruddy. 


2*  THE  BOOK  OF  ELEGIES. 

Ahy  ah,  Cytherea  —  the  loves  are  lamenting. 

She  lost  her  fair  spouse,  and  so  lost  her  fair  smile : 
When  he  lived  she  was  fair,  by  the  whole  world's  con- 
senting, 
Whose  fairness  is  dead  with   him :    woe  worth  the 
while ! 
All  the  mountains  above,  and  the  oaklands  below, 
Murmur,  ah,  ah,  Adonis !  the  streams  overflow 
Aphrodite's  deep  wail;  6 river-fountains  in  pity- 
Weep  soft  in  the  hills ;  and  the  flowers  as  they  blow 
Redden  outward  with  sorrow,  while  all  hear  her  go 
With  the  song  of  her  sadness  through  mountain  and 
city. 

Ah,  ah,  Cytherea !  Adonis  is  dead. 

Fair  Adonis  is  dead  —  Echo  answers  Adonis ! 
7  Who  weeps  not  for  Cypris,  when,  bowing  her  head, 

She  stares  at  the  wound  where  it  gapes  and  astonies  ? 
When  —  ah,  ah  —  she  saw  how  the  blood  ran  away 

And  empurpled  the  thigh,  and  with  wild  hands  flung 
out, 
Said  with  sobs,  "  Stay,  Adonis !  unhappy  one,  stay. 

Let  me  feel  thee  once  more,  let  me  ring  thee  about 
With  the  clasp  of  my  arms,  and  press  kiss  into  kiss ! 

Wait  a  little,  Adonis,  and  kiss  me  again, 
For  the  last  time,  beloved ;  and  but  so  much  of  this 

That  the  kiss  may  learn  life  from  the  warmth  of  the 
strain ! 
Till  thy  breath  shall  exude  from  thy  soul  to  my  mouth, 

To  my  heart,  and,  the  love-charm  I  once  more  receiv- 
ing, 
May  drink  thy  love  in  it,  and  keep  of  a  truth 

That  one  kiss  in  the  place  of  Adonis  the  living. 


THE  LAMENT  EOk  ADONIS.  27 

Thou  fliest  me,  mournful  one,  fliest  me  far, 

My  Adonis,  and  seekest  the  8  Acheron  portal ; 
To  Hell's  cruel  king  goest  down  with  a  scar, 

While  I  weep  and  live  on  like  a  wretched  immortal, 
And  follow  no  step  !  O  9  Persephone,  take  him, 

My  husband  !  thou'rt  better  and  brighter  than  I, 
So  all  beauty  flows  down  to  thee :  /  cannot  make  him 

Look  up  at  my  grief :  there's  despair  in  my  cry, 
Since  I  wail  for  Adonis  who  died  to  me  —  died  to  me  — 

Then,  I  fear  thee  !  Art  thou  dead,  my  adored  ? 
Passion  10ends  like  a  dream  in  the  sleep  that's  denied 
to  me, 

Cypris  is  widowed ;  the  Loves  seek  their  lord 
All  the  house  through  in  vain.     Charm  of  n  cestus  has 
ceased 

With  thy  clasp !     Oh,  too  bold  in  the  hunt  past  pre- 
venting, 
Ay,  n  mad,  thou  so  fair,  to  have  strife  with  a  beast ! " 

Thus  the  goddess  wailed  on  ;  and  the  Loves  are  lament- 
ing. 

Ah,  ah,  Cytherea,  Adonis  is  dead !  Adonis  is  dead. 

She  wept  tear  after  tear  with  the  blood  which  was  shed, 
And  both  turned  into  flowers  for  the  earth's  garden- 
close,  — 

14  Her  tear  to  the  wind-flower ;  his  blood  to  the  rose. 

I  mourn  for  Adonis  —  Adonis  is  dead. 

Weep  no  more  in  the  woods,  Cytherea,  thy  lover ! 
So,  well :  make  a  place  for  his  corse  in  thy  bed, 

With  the  purples  thou  sleepest  in,  under  and  over ; 
He's  fair,  though  a  corse,  —  a  fair  corse,  like  a  sleeper. 

Lay  him  soft  in  the  silks  he  had  pleasure  to  fold 


28  THE  BOOK  OF  ELEGIES. 

When,  beside  thee  at  night,  holy  dreams  deep  and  deeper 

Enclosed  his  young  life  on  the  couch  made  of  gold. 
Love  him  still,  poor  Adonis ;  cast  on  him  together 

The  15  crowns  and  the  flowers :  since  he  died  from  the 
place, 
Why,  let  all  die  with  him ;  let  the  blossoms  go  wither ; 

Rain  myrtles  and  olive-buds  down  on  his  face. 
Rain  the  myrrh  down,  let  all  that  is  best  fall  a-pining,16 

Since  the  myrrh  of  his  life  from  thy  keeping  is  swept. 
Pale  he  lay,  thine  Adonis,  in  purples  reclining : 
io      The  Loves  raised  their  voices  around  him  and  wept. 
They  have  17  shorn  their  bright  curls  off  to   cast   on 
Adonis ; 

One  treads  on  his  bow ;  on  his  arrows  another ; 
One  18  breaks  up  a  well-feathered  quiver ;  and  one  is 

Bent  low  at  a  sandal,  untying  the  strings ; 
And  one  carries  the  vases  of  gold  from  the  springs, 

While  one  washes  the  wound,   and  behind  them  a 
brother 
Fans  down  on  the  body  sweet  air  with  his  wings. 

Cytherea  herself  now  the  Loves  are  lamenting. 
Each  torch  at  the  door  Hymenaeus  blew  out ; 
20  And,  the  marriage-wreath  dropping  its  leaves  as  repent- 
ing, 
No  more  19  "  Hymen,  Hymen,"  is  chanted  about ; 
But  the  at,  ai,  instead  —  "  ai  alas  "  is  begun 

For  Adonis,  and  then  follows  "  ai  Hymenaeus ! " 
The  Graces  are  weeping  for  *  Cinyras'  son, 

Sobbing  low,  each  to  each,  "  His  fair  eyes  cannot  see 
us ! " 
Their  wail  strikes  more  thrill  than  the  sadder  21  Dione's. 
The  Fates  mourn  aloud  for  Adonis,  Adonis, 


THE  LAMENT  FOR  ADONIS.  29 

Deep  chanting :  he  hears  not  a  word  that  they  say ; 

He  would  hear,  but  Persephone  has  him  in  keeping. 
Cease  moan,  Cytherea !  leave  pomps  for  to-day, 

And  a  weep  new,  when  a  new  year  refits  thee  for 
weeping. 


NOTES. 

The  Author. 

Of  the  life  of  Bion  we  know  nothing  save  that  which  we  gather  from 
the  Elegy  which  was  written  in  his  honor  by  his  friend  and  pupil,  Moschus 
(see  page  43).  There  is,  it  is  true,  a  tradition  that  he  was  born  at  Phlossa, 
on  the  river  Meles,  near  Smyrna,  and  to  this  Moschus  alludes.  He  also 
tells  us  that  Bion  died  of  poison,  and  that  his  murderers  were  punished 
for  their  crime.  Other  expressions  in  his  poem  lead  us  to  suppose  that 
Theocritus  was  still  living  at  the  time  of  Bion?s  death,  which,  in  such  case 
could  hardly  have  been  later  than  260  B.C. 

The  Poem. 

It  is  the  first  of  the  six  Idyls  usually  ascribed  to  Bion,  and  was  probably 
intended  to  be  sung  at  one  of  the  spring  celebrations  of  the  festival  of 
Adonis.  Theocritus,  in  his  fifteenth  Idyl,  gives  us  another  example  of  the 
songs  used  on  these  occasions. 

1.  Adonis.  The  myth  of  Venus  and  Adonis  probably  originated  in 
the  poetic  idea  of  the  union  of  the  Sun  and  the  Earth,  as  narrated  in  the 
introductory  paragraph  (page  20,  above) .  Adonis  was  the  son  of  Myrrha. 
Even  when  an  infant,  his  beauty  was  so  wonderful  that  Aphrodite  (Venus) 
conceived  a  passion  for  him,  and,  unknown  to  all  the  gods,  she  put  him 
into  a  coffer,  and  gave  him  to  Persephone  to  keep.  But  the  queen  of  the 
shadow-land  refused  to  give  him  back.  The  matter  was  referred  to  Zeus, 
and  he  decreed  that  during  one-third  of  each  year  the  boy  should  stay 
with  Aphrodite,  during  another  third  he  should  be  given  to  Persephone, 
and  during  the  remaining  third  he  should  be  his  own  master.  Adonis, 
however,  chose  to  remain  with  Aphrodite  for  eight  months  at  a  time  — 
and  this  he  continued  to  do  until  one  day,  when  engaged  in  the  chase,  he 
was  attacked  and  slain  by  a  furious  wild  boar.  The  goddess,  when  she 
found  him  dead  in  the  forest,  was  overwhelmed  with  grief:  — 


30  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

"  She  looks  upon  his  lips,  and  they  are  pale ; 
She  takes  him  by  the  hand,  and  that  is  cold ; 
She  whispers  in  his  ears  a  heavy  tale, 
As  if  they  heard  the  woeful  words  she  told." 

Shakespeare,  Venus  and  Adonis. 

The  Adonis  of  the  Norse  mythology  is  called  Balder,  and  he  is  the  type 
of  the  good,  the  true,  and  the  beautiful.  In  a  more  material  sense  he  is 
also  the  sun,  the  revivifying,  life-giving  sunlight.  Through  the  treachery 
of  the  evil  one,  he  is  slain  by  blind  Hoder,  who  shoots  him  with  a  sprig  of 
mistletoe.  Forthwith  the  world  is  draped  in  mourning  for  the  death  of 
Balder  the  good;  the  birds  stop  singing,  and  fly  to  the  far-away  South- 
land; the  beasts  hide  themselves  in  their  lairs;  the  trees  shiver,  and  sigh, 
and  drop  their  withered  leaves  upon  the  ground;  all  Nature  weeps.  Then 
Friga,  Balder's  mother,  sends  a  messenger  to  Hela,  the  goddess  of  the 
dead,  to  pray  for  the  return  of  the  bright  one  to  those  who  love  him.  And 
the  Death-queen  consents  on  condition  that  everything  on  earth  shall 
weep  for  him.  But  Thok,  a  giantess,  refuses  to  join  in  the  universal 
mourning,  and  so  Hela  keeps  the  hero  in  her  halls.  Yet  during  the  half 
of  each  year  he  is  permitted  to  visit  the  earth  and  to  gladden  all  living 
beings  with  his  smile. 

The  worship  of  Adonis  dates  from  a  very  early  period,  and  originated 
probably  in  Assyria.  In  Phoenicia,  in  the  ancient  city  of  Byblos,  a  festival 
of  two  days  was  held  every  year  in  his  honor.  The  first  day  was  observed 
as  a  day  of  mourning  for  the  unhappy  death  of  Adonis,  or  Tammuz,  as  he 
was  known  by  the  Phoenicians;  the  second  was  a  day  of  triumph  and 
rejoicing  because  of  his  return  to  the  earth.  The  principal  participants 
in  these  festivals  were  the  young  women.  The  prophet  Ezekiel  alludes 
to  them  thus :  — 

"  And  he  brought  me  to  the  door  of  the  gate  of  the  Lord's  house  which  was 
toward  the  north;  and,  behold,  there  sat  women  weeping  for  Tammuz."  — 
Ezekiel  viii.  14. 

Milton  says  of  the  same :  — 

"  Thammuz  came  next  behind, 
Whose  annual  wound  in  Lebanon  allur'd 
The  Syrian  damsels  to  lament  his  fate 
In  amorous  ditties  all  a  summer's  day ; 
While  smooth  Adonis  from  his  native  rock 
Ran  purple  to  the  sea,  supposed  with  blood 
Of  Thammuz  yearly  wounded."  —  Par.  Lost,  i. 

The  "  smooth  Adonis,"  thus  referred  to  is  the  river  Adonis,  which  takes 
its  rise  in  the  Lebanon  mountains,  and  during  the  spring  freshets  turns 


THE  LAMENT  FOR  ADONIS.  31 

red  from  the  red  soil  of  the  hills  through  which  it  flows.  Izaak  Walton 
has  probably  this  river  in  mind  when  he  says,  "  There  is  a  river  in  Arabia 
of  which  all  the  sheep  that  drink  thereof  have  their  wool  turned  into  a 
vermilion  color." 

After  the  introduction  of  the  worship  of  Adonis  among  the  Greeks,  festi- 
vals in  his  honor  were  held  in  various  places,  and  especially  at  Alexandria, 
generally  continuing  eight  days.  Theocritus,  in  his  Adoniazusce  {Idyl  xv. 
alluded  to  above),  describes  a  visit  to  one  of  these  festivals  —  doubtless  on 
a  day  of  rejoicing  —  and  allows  us  to  listen  to  the  song  of  one  of  the 
maidens  chanting  the  praise  of  Adonis :  — 

"  Him  will  we,  ere  the  dew  of  dawn  is  o'er, 
Bear  to  the  waves  that  foam  upon  the  shore ; 
Then  with  bare  bosoms  and  dishevell'd  hair, 
Begin  to  chant  the  wild  and  mournful  air. 
Of  all  the  demigods,  they  say,  but  one 
Duly  revisits  earth  and  Acheron — 
Thou,  dear  Adonis !  " 

2.  Sleep  no  more. 

"  Methought  I  heard  a  voice  cry, ■  Sleep  no  more ! ' " 

Shakespeare,  Macbeth,  ii.  2. 
Compare  with  Adonais,  iii.  2. 

3.  Cytherea.  Cythera  was  the  name  of  a  mountainous  island  off  the 
southwest  coast  of  Laconia.  This  island  was  colonized  in  very  ancient 
times  by  the  Phoenicians  who  here  introduced  the  worship  of  Aphrodite. 
Certain  traditions  relate  that  it  was  near  the  shore  of  Cythera  that  Aphro- 
dite first  rose  from  the  foam  of  the  sea;  and  the  island  was  for  a  long 
time  celebrated  as  one  of  her  favored  places  of  worship.  See  note  10, 
page  16. 

4.  Oread  Nymphs.  The  Oreades,  or  Nymphs  of  the  mountains  and 
grottoes.     See  Pastorall  ALglogue  upon  the  Death  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  1.  62. 

5.  Assyrian.  According  to  Panyasis,  Adonis  was  the  son  of  Theias, 
king  of  Assyria,  and  hence  an  Assyrian.  Compare  this  passage  with 
Adonais,  xiv.  3-6. 

6.  rivers  sorrow.  See  Lament  for  Bion,  line  2;  also  note  21, 
page  48. 

7.  Who  would  not  have  lamented,  etc.  Compare  with  Lycidas,  10. 
Also  with  Pope's  Epistle  to  Dr.  Arbuthnot,  line  214:  — 

"  Who  would  not  weep  if  Atticus  were  he  ?  " 

8.  Acheron,  and  its  gloomy,  cruel  king.  By  the  figure  of  Synec- 
doche, Acheron  is  here  used  to  denote  the  entire  region  of  Hades.     See 


32  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES, 

note  24,  page  17.  The  cruel  king  is  Pluto,  or  Aidoneus,  i.e.  death,  the 
"  king  of  terrors."  See  Job  xviii.  14 :  "  His  confidence  shall  be  rooted 
out  of  his  tabernacle,  and  it  shall  bring  him  to  the  king  of  terrors." 

9.  Persephone.  Queen  of  Hades,  to  whose  share  "  falls  the  whole  of 
what  is  beautiful."  "  Thou  art  thyself  far  more  powerful  than  I."  Love 
is  sometimes  represented  as  being  strong  as  Death,  but  not  so  here :  — 

"  Love,  strong  as  death,  the  poet  led 
To  the  pale  nations  of  the  dead." 

Pope's  Ode  on  St.  Cecilia's  Day. 

"  Love  is  strong  as  death."  —  Song  of  Solomon,  viii.  6. 

10.  my  longing  is  fled  as  a  dream.  See  Job  xx.  8 :  "He  shall  flee 
away  as  a  dream,  and  shall  not  be  found;  yea,  he  shall  be  chased  away 
as  a  vision  of  the  night." 

11.  charmed  girdle.  Venus's  girdle  was  said  to  have  the  magical 
power  of  exciting  love. 

"  It  gave  the  virtue  of  chaste  love 
And  wifehood  true  to  all  that  it  did  bear ; 
But  whosoever  contrary  doth  prove 
Might  not  the  same  about  her  middle  wear, 
But  it  would  loose,  or  else  asunder  tear." 

Spenser,  Faerie  Queene,  canto  iii. 

Homer  describes  it  as  being  — 

"  wrought  with  every  charm 
To  win  the  heart ;  there  Love,  there  young  Desire, 
There  fond  Discourse,  and  there  Persuasion  dwelt, 
Which  oft  enthralls  the  mind  of  wisest  men." 

Iliad,  xiv.  {Lord  Derby's  trans.). 

12.  wast  thou  mad  enough  ?  etc.  Compare  with  Shakespeare,  Venus 
and  Adonis,  line  615  :  — 

"  Thou  knowest  not  what  it  is 
With  javelin's  point  a  churlish  swine  to  gore." 

13.  Paphian  goddess.  From  Paphos,  a  city  in  Cyprus,  the  chief  seat 
of  the  worship  of  Venus. 

14.  The  blood  begets  a  rose,  and  the  tears  the  anemone.  See 
Spenser's  Astrophel,  line  181 :  — 

"The  gods  . . .  pittyingthis  paire  of  lovers  trew, 
Transformed  them  there  lying  on  the  field 
Into  one  flowre  that  is  both  red  and  blew." 


THE  LAMENT  FOR  ADONIS.  33 

See  also  Moschus's  Lament  for  Bion :  "  Redden,  ye  roses,  in  your  sorrow, 
and  now  wax  red,  ye  wind-flowers."  And  Shakespeare's  Venus  and 
Adonis,  lines  1167-1171  :  — 

"  And  in  his  blood  that  on  the  ground  lay  spill'd, 
A  purple  flower  sprung  up,  chequer'd  with  white, 
Resembling  well  his  pale  cheeks  and  the  blood 
Which  in  round  drops  upon  their  whiteness  stood." 

The  red  maithes  or  pheasant's  eye,  sometimes  called  Adonis  flower,  and 
in  French  goute  de  sang,  is  said  to  have  sprung  from  the  blood  of  Adonis. 
15.   Lay  him  amid  chaplets  and  flowers.     See  Lycidas,  lines  139- 
152.     Also  Shakespeare,  Cymbeline,  iv.  2 :  — 

"  With  fairest  flowers 
Whilst  summer  lasts,  and  I  live  here,  Fidele, 
I'll  sweeten  thy  sad  grave ;  thou  shalt  not  lack 
The  flower,  that's  like  thy  face,  pale  primrose ;  n©r 
The  azur'd  hare-bell,  like  thy  veins ;  no,  nor 
The  leaf  of  eglantine,  whom  not  to  slander, 
Out-sweeten'd  not  thy  breath." 

See  also  Spenser's  Shepheards  Calender,  April:  — 

"  Bring  hether  the  pincke  and  purple  cullambine. 

With  gelliflowres ; 
Bring  coronations,  and  sops  in  wine, 

Worne  of  paramoures : 
Strowe  me  the  grounde  with  daffadowndillies, 
And  cowslips,  and  kingcups,  and  loved  lillies: 

The  prety  pawnee 

And  the  chevisaunce, 
Shall  match  with  the  fayre  flowre  Delice." 

Also  Milton's  Comus,  998-1002 :  — 

"  Beds  of  hyacinth  and  roses, 
Where  young  Adonis  oft  reposes, 
Waxing  well  of  his  deep  wound 
In  slumber  soft,  and  on  the  ground 
Sadly  sits  the  Assyrian  queen." 

Also  Shakespeare,  The  Winter's  Tale,  iv.  3 :  — 

"  O,  Proserpina, 
For  the  flowers  now,  that,  frighted,  thou  let'st  fall 
From  Dis's  wagon  !  daffodils, 
That  come  before  the  swallow  dares,  and  take 
The  winds  of  March  with  beauty ;  violets,  dim, 
But  sweeter  than  the  lids  of  Juno's  eyes, 


34  THE  BOOK  OF  ELEGIES. 

Or  Cytherea's  breath ;  pale  primroses 
That  die  unmarried,  ere  they  can  behold 
Bright  Phoebus  in  his  strength,  a  malady 
Most  incident  to  maids ;  bold  oxlips,  and 
The  crown-imperial ;  lilies  of  all  kinds, 
The  flower-de-luce  being  one !  " 

It  was  said  that  Adonis  delighted  in  gardens.  Pliny  remarks  that 
among  the  ancients  there  were  none  more  wonderful  than  those  of  the 
Hesperides,  of  Adonis,  and  of  Alcinous.  Shakespeare,  in  I.  Henry  IV., 
says : — 

"  Thy  promises  are  like  Adonis'  gardens, 
That  one  day  bloom'd  and  fruitful  were  the  next." 

Spenser,  in   The  Faerie   Queene,  iii.  6,  gives  a   detailed   and   beautiful 
allegorical  description  of  the  gardens  of  Adonis :  — 

"  Whether  in  Paphos,  or  Cytheron  hill, 
Or  it  in  Gnidus  bee,  I  wote  not  well ; 
But  well  I  wote  by  triall,  that  this  same 
All  other  pleasant  places  doth  excell, 
And  called  is  by  her  lost  lover's  name, 
The  Gardin  of  Adonis,  far  renowned  by  fame." 

The  boxes  and  pots  of  flowers  used  at  the  festivals  of  Adonis  were  also 
called  "Adonis  gardens."  They  were  reared  specially  for  the  occasion, 
and  after  the  feast  they  were  thrown  away.  Hence  the  expression 
"Adonis  garden"  is  sometimes  used  to  designate  any  short-lived  pleasure. 

16.  All  flowers  have  become  withered.  Ben  Jonson,  in  The  Sad 
Shepherd,  represents  the  flowers  dying  of  grief  for  the  loss  of  a  loved 
one:  — 

"  A  spring,  now  she  is  dead !  of  what  ?  of  thorns, 

Briars,  and  brambles  ?  thistles,  burs  and  docks  ? 

Cold  hemlock,  yew  ?  the  mandrake  or  the  boc  ? 

These  may  grow  still ;  but  what  can  spring  beside  ? 

Did  not  the  whole  earth  sicken  when  she  died  ? 

As  if  there  since  did  fall  one  drop  of  dew, 

But  what  was  wept  for  her !  or  any  stalk 

Did  bear  a  flower,  or  any  branch  a  bloom, 

After  her  wreath  was  made !  .  .  .    Do  I  not  know 

How  the  vale  wither'd  the  same  day  ?  " 

See  also  Lament  for  Bion,  line  16,  page  40.     Spenser  says:  — 

"  The  mantled  medowes  mourne 
Theyr  sundrie  colors  tourne." 

Shepheards  Calender,  November. 


THE  LAMENT  FOR  ADONIS.  35 


And  Pope :  — 


"  Ye  weeping  Loves,  the  stream  with  myrtles  hide, 
And  break  your  bows,  as  when  Adonis  died."  —  Pastoraliv. 

And  Burns :  — 

"  Mourn,  little  harebells  o'er  the  lee ! 
Ye  stately  foxgloves  fair  to  see ! 
Ye  woodbines,  hanging  bonnilie, 

In  scented  bowers ! 
Ye  roses  on  your  thorny  tree, 

The  first  o'  flowers !  "  —  Elegy  on  Matthew  Henderson. 

17.  Locks  shorn  for  Adonis.  An  allusion  to  an  ancient  custom  of 
shearing  the  hair  in  token  of  mourning  for  the  dead :  — 

41  In  the  midst  Patroclus  came, 
Borne  by  his  comrades ;  all  the  corpse  with  hair 
They  cover'd  o'er,  which  from  their  heads  they  shore.  •  •  • 
Then  a  fresh  thought  Achilles'  mind  conceiv'd : 
Standing  apart,  the  yellow  locks  he  shore, 
Which  as  an  off' ring  to  Sperchius'  stream, 
He  nurs'd  in  rich  profusion."  —  Iliad,  xxxiii.  135-140. 

4"  I  do  not  blame 
This  sorrow  for  whoever  meets  his  fate 
And  dies ;  the  only  honors  we  can  pay 
To  those  unhappy  mortals  is  to  shred 

Our  locks  away,  and  wet  our  cheeks  with  tears.' " 

Odyssey,  iv.  197-201. 

"  So  he  (Socrates)  dropped  his  hand  and  stroked  my  head,  and  pressed  my 
hair  which  lay  upon  my  neck  —  he  often  used  to  play  with  my  hair  —  and  said, 
1  Phaedo,  I  suppose  you  intend  to  cut  off  those  beautiful  locks  to-morrow,  as 
a  sign  of  mourning.' "  —  Plato,  Phado,  86. 

"  And  they  shall  make  themselves  utterly  bald  for  thee,  and  gird  them  with 
sackcloth,  and  they  shall  weep  for  thee  with  bitterness  of  heart  and  bitter 
wailing."  —  Ezekiel,  xxvii.  31. 

See  Adonais,  xi.  3. 

18.  breaking  his  well-feather'd  quiyer.  See  quotation  from  Pope, 
note  16,  above.     Also  Adonaisy  xi.  6. 

19.  Hymen.     The  bridal  song  :  — 

"  They  led 
The  brides  with  flaming  torches  from  their  bowers, 
Along  the  streets,  with  many  a  nuptial  song."  —  Iliad,  xviii.  493. 


36  THE  BOOK  OF  ELEGIES. 

"  And  heavenly  quires  the  Hymenean  sung."  —  Paradise  Lost,  iv. 

"  Hymen,  O  Hymenseus,  rejoice  thou  in  this  bridal." 

Theocritus,  Id.  xviii. 

"  And  Hymen  also  crowne  with  wreaths  of  vine, 
And  let  the  Graces  daunce  unto  the  rest, 
For  they  can  doo  it  best : 

The  whiles  the  maydens  doe  theyr  carroll  sing, 
To  which  the  woods  shall  answer,  and  theyr  eccho  ring." 

Spenser,  Epithatamion,  256-260. 

"  Hymen,  O  Hymen,  to  thy  triumphs  run, 
And  view  the  mighty  spoils  thou  hast  in  battle  won." 

Dry  den  t  Epithalium  of  Helen  and  Menelaus. 

20.  Cinyras.  King  of  Cyprus,  priest  of  the  Paphian  Venus,  and, 
according  to  some,  the  father  of  Adonis. 

II.  Dione.  The  mother  of  Aphrodite.  But  the  word  here  probably 
alludes  to  Aphrodite  herself. 

22.  Thou  must  wail  again.  There  will  be  another  festival  to  Adonis 
next  year,  when  this  wailing  and  weeping  will  be  repeated. 

"  Be  propitious  now,  dear  Adonis,  and  mayest  thou  give  pleasure  next  year." 
—  Theocritus,  Id.  xv. 


THE  LAMENT  FOR  BION 

AN  IDYL    BY  HIS  FRIEND    AND   PUPIL 

MOSCHUS  OF  SYRACUSE 

Written  in  Greek  about  a6o  B.C. 


An  English  Prose  Version  by  Andrew  Lang 


M  If  any  man  sing  that  hath  a  loveless  heart,  him  do  the  Muses  flee,  and 
do  not  choose  to  teach  him:  But  if  the  mind  of  any  be  siuayed  by  Love,  and 
siveetly  he  sings,  to  him  the  Muses  all  run  eagerly"  So  zvrote  Bion,  the 
Smyrncean,  the  sweet  singer  of  many  pastoral  idyls  and  of  love-ditties  not 
a  few.  "  And  a  witness  am  I,"  continued  he,  "  that  this  saying  is  wholly 
true,  for  if  I  sing  of  any  other,  mortal  or  immortal,  then  falters  my  tongue, 
and  sings  no  longer  as  of  old;  but  if  again  to  Love  and  Lycidas  I  sing, 
then  gladly  from  my  lips  flows  forth  the  voice  of  song."  And  afterwards  he 
added,  "  /  know  not  how  nor  is  it  fitting  I  should  labor  at  what  I  have  not 
learned.  If  my  ditties  are  beautiful,  then  these  only  which  the  Muse  has 
presented  to  me  aforetime  will  give  me  renown.  But  if  these  be  not  to  merts 
taste,  what  boots  it  me  to  labor  at  more  ?  "  And  so  he  sang  of  Adonis,  slain 
in  his  beauty  on  the  wooded  mountain-top,  of  the  wild  grief  of  Cytherea, 
and  the  sad  lament  of  the  Loves.  He  sang  too  of  Scyra,  and  of  Achilles, 
and  his  love  for  Deidamia  ;  and  of  the  seasons,  "  which  is  sweetest,  spring, 
or  winter,  or  the  late  autumn,  or  the  summer"  ;  and  of  the  boy,  who,  with 
his  bow  and  arrows,  lay  in  wait  for  Love.  Then  he  taught  to  others  his 
store  of  pastoral  song ;  he  taught  "  how  the  cross-flute  was  invented  by  Pan, 
and  the  flute  by  Athene,  and  by  Hermes  the  tortoise-shell  lyre,  and  the  harp 
by  sweet  Apollo."  And  were  these  songs  pleasing  to  men  ?  Let  the  me?nory 
of  them  which  has  been  kept  green  for  now  more  than  two  thousand  years 
answer.  Let  the  song  with  which  Moschus,  his  friend  and  pupil,  lamented 
his  untimely  death,  answer. 


SHje  iLament  for  Bion- 

Wail,  let  me  hear  you  wail,  ye  woodland  glades,  and 
1thou  Dorian  water;  and  weep  ye  rivers,  for  Bion, 
the  well-beloved !  Now  all  ye  green  things  mourn, 
and  now  ye  groves  lament  him,  ye  flowers  now  in  sad 
clusters  breathe  yourselves  away.  Now  redden  ye  roses 
in  your  sorrow,  and  now  wax  red  ye  wind-flowers,  now 
thou  2  hyacinth,  whisper  the  letters  on  thee  graven,  and 
add  a  deeper  ai  ai  to  thy  petals ;  he  is  dead,  the  beauti- 
ful singer. 

Begin,  ye  Sicilian  Muses,  begin  the  dirge. 

3  Ye  nightingales  that  lament  among  the  thick  leaves 
of  the  trees,  tell  ye  to  the  Sicilian  waters  of  4  Arethusa 
the  tidings  that  Bion  the  herdsman  is  dead,  and  that 
with  Bion  song  too  has  died,  and  perished  hath  the 
5  Dorian  minstrelsy. 

Begin,  ye  Sicilian  Muses,  begin  the  dirge. 

Ye  6  Strymonian  swans,  sadly  wail  ye  by  the  waters, 
and  chant  with  melancholy  notes  the  dolorous  song, 
even  such  a  song  as  in  his  time  with  voice  like  yours  he 
was  wont  to  sing.  And  tell  again  to  the  7  CEagrian 
maidens,  tell  to  all  the  Nymphs  Bistonian,  how  that  he 
hath  perished,  the  8  Dorian  Orpheus. 

39 


40  THE  BOOK  OF  ELEGIES. 

Begin,  ye  Sicilian  Muses,  begin  the  dirge. 
No  more  to  his  herds  he  sings,  that  beloved  herds- 
man, no  more  'neath  the  lonely  oaks  he  sits  and  sings, 
nay,  but  by  Pluteus's  side  he  chants  9  a  refrain  of  obliv- 
ion. The  10  mountains  too  are  voiceless :  and  the 
heifers  that  wander  with  the  herds  lament  and  refuse 
their  pasture. 

Begin,  ye  Sicilian  Muses,  begin  the  dirge. 

Thy  sudden  doom,  O  Bion,  Apollo  himself  lamented, 
io  and  the  Satyrs  mourned  thee,  and  the  u  Priapi  in  sable 
raiment,  and  the  Panes  sorrow  for  thy  song,  and  the 
fountain  fairies  in  the  wood  made  moan,  and  12  their  tears 
turned  to  rivers  of  waters.  And  Echo  in  the  rocks 
laments  that  thou  art  silent,  and  no  more  she  mimics 
thy  voice.  And  in  sorrow  for  thy  fall  the  trees  cast 
down  their  fruit,  and  13  all  the  flowers  have  faded.  From 
the  ewes  hath  flowed  no  fair  milk,  no  honey  from  the 
hives,  nay,  it  hath  perished  for  mere  sorrow  in  the  wax, 
for  now  hath  thy  honey  perished,  and  no  more  it  be- 
20  hooves  men  to  gather  the  honey  of  the  bees. 

Begin,  ye  Sicilian  Muses,  begin  the  dirge. 

Not  so  much  did  the  u  dolphin  mourn  beside  the  sea- 
banks,  nor  ever  sang  so  sweet  the  nightingale  on  the 
cliffs,  nor  so  much  lamented  the  swallow  on  the  long 
ranges  of  the  hills,  nor  shrilled  so  loud  the  16  halcyon 
o'er  his  sorrows. 

Begin,  ye  Sicilian  Muses,  begin  the  dirge. 

Nor  so  much,  by  the  gray  sea-waves,  did  ever  the  sea- 
bird  sing,  nor  so  much  in  the  dells  of  dawn  did  the  16  birds 


THE  LAMENT  FOR   BION.  41 

of  Memnon  bewail  the  son  of  the  Morning,  fluttering 
around  his  tomb,  as  they  lamented  for  Bion  dead. 

Nightingales,  and  all  the  swallows  that  once  he  was 
wont  to  delight,  that  he  would  teach  to  speak,  they  sat 
over  against  each  other  17  on  the  boughs  and  kept  moan- 
ing, and  the  birds  sang  in  answer,  "  Wail,  ye  wretched 
ones,  even  ye! " 

Begin,  ye  Sicilian  Muses,  begin  the  dirge. 

Who,  ah,  who  will  ever  make  music  on  thy  pipe,  O 
thrice  desired  Bion,  and  who  will  put  his  mouth  to  the  10 
reeds  of  thine  instrument  ?  who  is  so  bold  ? 

For  still  thy  lips  and  still  thy  breath  survive,  and 
Echo,  among  the  reeds,  doth  still  feed  upon  thy  songs. 
To  Pan  shall  I  bear  the  pipe  ?  Nay,  perchance  even 
he  would  fear  to  set  his  mouth  to  it,  lest,  after  thee,  he 
should  win  18  but  the  second  prize. 

Begin,  ye  Sicilian  Muses,  begin  the  dirge. 

v  Yea,  and  19  Galatea  laments  thy  song,  she  whom  once 
thou  wouldst  delight,  as  with  thee  she  sat  by  the  sea- 
banks.  For  not  like  the  Cyclops  didst  thou  sing  —  him  20 
fair  Galatea  ever  fled,  but  on  thee  she  still  looked  more 
kindly  than  on  the  salt  water.  And  now  hath  she  for- 
gotten the  wave,  and  sits  on  the  lonely  sands,  but  still 
she  keeps  thy  kine. 

Begin,  ye  Sicilian  Muses,  begin  the  dirge. 

All  the  gifts  of  the  Muses,  herdsman,  have  died  with 
thee,  the  delightful  kisses  of  maidens,  the  lips  of  boys ; 
and  woful  round  thy  tomb  the  Loves  are  weeping. 
But  Cypris  loves  thee  far  more  than  the  kiss  wherewith 
she  kissed  the  dying  2°  Adonis.  30 


42  THE  BOOK  OF  ELEGIES. 

Begin,  ye  Sicilian  Muses,  begin  the  dirge. 

This,  O  most  musical  of  rivers,  is  thy  second  sorrow, 
this,  21  Meles,  thy  new  woe.  Of  old  didst  thou  lose 
Homer,  that  sweet  mouth  of  Calliope,  and  men  say  thou 
didst  bewail  thy  goodly  son  with  streams  of  many  tears, 
and  didst  fill  all  the  salt  sea  with  the  voice  of  thy  lamen- 
tation —  now  again  another  son  thou  weepest,  and  in  a 
new  sorrow  art  thou  wasting  away. 

Begin,  ye  Sicilian  Muses,  begin  the  dirge. 

io  Both  were  beloved  of  the  fountains,  and  one  ever 
drank  of  the  *  Pegasean  fount,  but  the  other  would  drain 
a  draught  of  Arethusa.  And  the  one  sang  the  23  fair 
daughter  of  Tyndarus,  and  the  mighty  son  of  Thetis, 
and  Menelaus,  Atreus's  son,  but  that  other,  —  not  of 
wars,  not  of  tears,  but  of  Pan  would  he  sing,  and  of 
herdsmen  would  he  chant,  and  so  singing,  he  tended  the 
herds.  And  pipes  he  would  fashion,  and  would  milk 
the  sweet  heifer,  and  taught  lads  how  to  kiss,  and  Love 
he  cherished  in  his  bosom  and  woke  the  passion  of 

20  Aphrodite. 

Begin,  ye  Sicilian  Muses,  begin  the  dirge. 

Every  famous  city  laments  thee,  Bion,  and  every 
town.  M  Ascra  laments  thee  far  more  than  her  Hesiod, 
and  Pindar  is  less  regretted  by  the  forests  of  Boeotia. 
Nor  so  much  did  pleasant  Lesbos  mourn  for  Alcaeus, 
nor  did  the  Teian  town  so  greatly  bewail  her  poet,  while 
for  thee  more  than  for  Archilochus  doth  Paros  yearn, 
and  not  for  Sappho,  but  still  for  thee  doth  Mytilene 
wail  her  musical  lament. 

[Here  seven  verses  are  lost.] 


THE  LAMENT  FOR  BION.  43 

And  in  Syracuse  ^  Theocritus ;  but  I  sing  thee  the 
dirge  of  an  ^  Ausonian  sorrow,  I  that  am  no  stranger 
to  the  pastoral  song,  but  heir  of  the  Doric  Muse  which 
thou  didst  teach  thy  pupils.  This  was  thy  gift  to  me ; 
to  others  didst  thou  leave  thy  wealth,  27  to  me  thy  min- 
strelsy. 

Begin,  ye  Sicilian  Muses,  begin  the  dirge. 

Ah  me,  when  the  mallows  wither  in  the  garden,  and 
the  green  parsley,  and  the  curled  tendrils  of  the  anise, 
on  a  later  day  they  live  again,  and  spring  in  another  10 
year ;  but  we  men,  we  the  great  and  mighty,  or  wise, 
when  once  we  have  died,  in  hollow  earth  we  sleep,  gone 
down  into  silence ;  a  right  long,  and  endless,  and  w  un- 
awakening  sleep.  And  thou,  too,  in  the  earth  wilt  be 
lapped  in  silence,  but  the  nymphs  have  thought  good 
that  the  frog  should  eternally  sing.  Nay,  him  I  would 
not  envy,  for  'tis  no  sweet  song  he  singeth. 

Begin,  ye  Sicilian  Muses,  begin  the  dirge. 

29  Poison  came,  Bion,  to  thy  mouth,  thou  didst  know 
poison.     To  such  lips  as  thine  did  it  come,  and  was  not  20 
sweetened  ?     What  mortal  was  so  cruel  that  could  mix 
poison  for  thee,  or  who  could  give  thee  venom  that 
heard  thy  voice  ?  surely  he  had  ^no  music  in  his  soul. 

Begin,  ye  Sicilian  Muses,  begin  the  dirge. 

But  justice  hath  overtaken  them  all.  Still  for  this 
sorrow  I  weep,  and  bewail  thy  ruin.  But  ah,  if  I  might 
have  gone  down  31  like  Orpheus  to  Tartarus,  or  as  once 
Odysseus,  or  Alcides  of  yore,  I  too  would  speedily  have 
come  to  the  house  of  Pluteus,  that  thee  perchance  I 
might  behold,  and  if  thou   singest  to   Pluteus,  that   I  3° 


44  THE  BOOK  OF  ELEGIES. 

might  hear  what  is  thy  song.     Nay,  sing  to  32  the  Maiden 
some  strain  of  Sicily,  sing  some  sweet  pastoral  lay. 

And  she  too  is  Sicilian,  and  on  the  shores  by  Etna 
she  was  wont  to  play,  and  she  knew  the  Dorian  strain. 
Not  unrewarded  will  the  singing  be;  and  as  once  to 
Orpheus's  sweet  minstrelsy  she  ^gave  Eurydice  to 
return  with  him,  even  so  will  she  send  thee  too,  Bion, 
to  the  hills.  But  if  I,  even  I,  and  my  piping  had  aught 
availed,  before  Pluteus  I  too  would  have  sung. 


NOTES. 

The  Author. 

"  The  poet  Moschus  seems  to  have  found  no  kindred  spirit  to  embalm 
his  memory  in  harmonious  numbers;  or  if  he  had  that  fortune,  it  has  not 
survived  the  oblivion  which  so  remorselessly  overwhelms  the  rest  of  his 
personal  history.  We  reckon  him  a  Syracusan,  whose  day  was  about  the 
close  of  the  third  century  before  Christ.  And  he  must  have  been  contem- 
poraneous with  Bion,  probably  in  age  somewhat  younger."  —  Rev.  J. 
Banks, 

The  Poem. 

The  Lament  for  Bion  is  the  third  of  nine  Idyls  (some  of  them  very 
brief)  which  constitute  all  that  we  have  left  of  the  poetical  works  of 
Moschus. 

i.  thou  Dorian  water;  and  weep,  ye  rivers.  See  note  68,  on 
Lycidas ;  also  notes  12  and  21,  below. — all  ye  green  things  mourn. 
See  note  16,  page  34. 

2.  hyacinth.  Hyacinthus  was  accidentally  killed  by  his  friend  Apollo 
while  playing  at  quoits.  From  his  blood  sprang  the  flower  hyacinth,  upon 
whose  leaves  appear  to  be  embroidered  the  Greek  exclamation  of  woe, 
&,*<:  — 

"  The  hyacinth  bewrays  the  doleful  at, 
And  culls  the  tribute  of  Apollo's  sigh. 
Still  on  its  bloom  the  mournful  flower  retains 
The  lovely  blue  that  dyed  the  stripling's  veins." 

Camoens,  Lusiad,  ix. 


THE  LAMENT  FOR  BION.  45 

"  I  am  pretty  well  satisfied  that  the  flower  celebrated  by  the  poets  is  what 
we  now  are  acquainted  with  under  the  name  '  Lilium  floribus  reflexis,'  or  Mar- 
tagon,  and  perhaps  may  be  that  very  species  which  we  call  Imperial  Martagon. 
The  flowers  of  most  sorts  of  martagons  have  many  spots  of  a  deeper  color ;  and 
sometimes  I  have  seen  these  spots  run  together  in  such  a  manner  as  to  form 
the  letters  at  in  several  places."  — John  Martyn,  1755  (quoted  by  Rossetti). 

See  also  Lycidas,  line  105,  and  Adonais,  xvi.  1. 

3.  Ye  nightingales  that  lament :  — 

"  So  Philomel,  perched  on  an  aspen  sprig, 
Weeps  all  the  night  her  lost  virginity, 
And  sings  her  sad  tale  to  the  merry  twig 
That  dances  at  such  joyful  misery." 

Giles  Fletcher,  Christ's  Triumph,  etc. 
"  And  Philomele  her  song  with  teares  doth  steepe." 

Spenser,  The  Shepheards  Calender,  November. 

4.  Arethusa.  See  note  15,  page  17.  See  also  /ycidas,  85  and  132. 
Milton  calls  Arethusa  the  "  Sicilian  Muse,"  and  Virgil  calls  Sicily,  the  land 
of  pastoral  song,  by  her  name. 

5.  Dorian  minstrelsy.  Pastoral  songs.  Theocritus,  Bion,  and  Moschus 
all  wrote  in  the  Doric  dialect.  "  Everything  Doric  was  noted  for  its  chaste 
simplicity."  —  Brewer.  The  Dorians  were  the  pastoral  people  of  Greece, 
and  their  speech  was  that  of  the  simple  country  folk.     See  Lycidast  189. 

"  The  Doric  reed  once  more 
Well  pleased  I  tuned."  —  Thomson,  Autumn. 

6.  Strymonian  swans.  Virgil,  Georgics,  I.,  refers  to  Strymonian 
cranes.  The  river  Strymon  was  the  boundary  between  Macedonia  and 
Thrace.  It  is  related  that  the  song  of  the  musical  swan  (Cygnus  musicus) 
resembles  notes  played  on  the  violin.  It  was  once  a  popular  belief  that 
swans  sang  when  about  to  die. 

"The  comparison  seemeth  to  be  strange;  for  the  swan  hath  ever  wonne 
small  commendation  for  her  sweete  singing.  But  it  is  said  of  the  learned  that 
the  Swanne,  a  little  before  her  death,  singeth  most  pleasantly,  as  prophecying  by 
a  secrete  instinct  her  neere  destinie."  —  Shepheards  Calender,  October,  Glosse. 

"  Swans,  you  know,  are  said  to  $ing  most  sweetly  when  they  know  that  they 
are  going  to  die;  they  rejoice  that  they  are  to  go  to  the  deity  whose  servant 
they  are."  —  Plato,  Phcedo,  77. 

"  I  will  play  the  swan,  and  die  in  music."  —  Shakespeare,  Othello,  v.  2. 
"  Makes  a  swan-like  end, 
Fading  in  Music."  —  Merchant  of  Venice,  iii.  2. 

"There,  swan-like,  let  me  sing  and  die."  —  Byron,  Don  Juan,  iii.  86. 


46  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

7.  (Eagrian  maidens.  The  sisters  of  Orpheus.  Their  father  was 
CEagrus,  king  of  Thrace.  —  Bistonian  nymphs.  Nymphs  of  Lake  Bis- 
tonis,  in  Thrace,  near  the  home  of  Orpheus. 

8.  Dorian  Orpheus.  So  called  because  of  his  Doric  minstrelsy. 
John  Gay  (1688-1732)  is  sometimes  referred  to  as  the  "Orpheus  of  High- 
waymen," from  his  authorship  of  The  Beggar's  Opera.  The  Irish  poet 
and  musician,  Furlough  O'Carolan  (1670-1738)^8  called  the  "Orpheus 
of  the  Green  Isle."     See  also  note  28,  on  Lycidas. 

g.  a  refrain  of  oblivion.  That  is,  a  song  of  forgetfulness.  See 
Theocritus,  Id.  i. :  "  Thou  canst  in  no  wise  carry  thy  song  with  thee  to 
Hades,  that  puts  all  things  out  of  mind."  Also  Iliad,  ii.  600:  "They  took 
from  him  the  high  gift  of  song,  and  made  him  forget  his  harping. " 

10.  mountains.  See  Lycidas,  161,  and  note  on  the  same.  Compare 
with  Gray's  The  Bard:  — 

"  Mountains,  ye  mourn  in  vain 
Modred,  whose  magic  song 
Made  huge  Plinlimmon  bow  his  cloud-topped  head." 

11.  Priapi.  See  note  9,  page  16. — Panes.  "Like  many  other 
gods  who  were  originally  single,  Pan  was  multiplied  in  course  of  time, 
and  we  meet  with  Pans  in  the  plural."  —  Keightley.  —  fountain  fairies 
made  moan.     Compare  with  Spenser  :  — 

"  The  water  nymphs,  that  wont  with  her  to  sing  and  daunce, 
Now  balefull  boughes  of  cypres  doen  advaunce." 

The  Shepheards  Calender,  November. 

12.  their  tears  turned  to  rivers  of  waters.  See  note  1,  above. 
Also  see  Bion's  Lament  for  Adonis,  line  13,  page  22. 

"  The  flouds  doe  gaspe,  for  dryed  is  their  sourse, 
And  flouds  of  teares  flow  in  theyr  stead  perforce." 

Spenser,  Shepheards  Calender,  November. 

13.  all  the  flowers  have  faded.     See  note  16,  page  34. 

14.  dolphin.  Dolphins  were  lovers  of  music.  When  Arion,  having 
won  the  prize  in  a  musical  contest  in  Sicily,  was  returning  on  ship-board 
to  Greece,  the  sailors  plotted  to  murder  him  in  order  to  secure  his  treasures. 
Learning  of  their  designs,  he  placed  himself  in  the  prow  of  the  ship,  and 
began  to  play  on  the  cithera.  Many  song-loving  dolphins  came  about  the 
vessel,  and  the  musician,  invoking  the  gods,  threw  himself  into  the  sea  in 
their  midst.  Then  one  of  them  took  the  bard  on  his  back,  and  carried 
him  in  safety  to  Taenarus.     See  Lycidas,  164. 

15.  halcyon.  Alcyone  was  the  daughter  of  yEolus,  and  the  wife  of 
Ceyx.     Her  husband  having  perished  in  a  shipwreck,  she  threw  herself 


THE  LAMENT  FOR  BLON  47 

into  the  sea,  and  the  gods  in  compassion  changed  the  two  into  birds 
called  halcyons  (kingfishers). 

16.  birds  of  Memnon.  Memnon,  the  son  of  the  Morning  (Aurora), 
was  slain  by  Achilles  at  Troy,  and  his  mother  besought  Zeus  that  his 
memory  should  have  more  than  mortal  honors.  Therefore  from  his  funeral 
pyre  two  flocks  of  birds  arose,  which,  after  circling  about  the  flames  for  a 
little  while,  began  to  fight  among  themselves;  and  this  strange  contest 
continued  until  the  greater  number  of  them  perished  in  the  fire.  Every 
year  thereafter  these  birds,  called  Memnonides,  returned  to  the  tomb  of 
Memnon,  and  renewed  the  fight. 

17.  on  the  boughs.     Compare  with  Spenser,  Shepheards  Calender  :  — 

"  The  turtle  on  the  bared  braunch 
Laments  the  wound  that  Death  did  launch." 

18.  but  the  second  prize.     See  introductory  paragraph,  page  8. 

19.  Galatea.  See  Theocritus,  Idyl  xi.,  "The  Cyclops  in  Love." 
Galatea  was  a  sea-nymph.     For  Cyclops,  see  Odyssey,  ix. 

20.  See  The  Lament  for  Adonis,  page  22,  line  7. 

21.  Meles.  A  river  flowing  near  Smyrna,  and  past  Phlossa,  the  birth- 
place of  Bion.  Homer  also  was  said  by  some  to  have  been  reared  on  the 
banks  of  the  same  river.  Calliope  was  the  Muse  of  epic  poetry;  hence 
the  expression,  "  that  sweet  mouth  of  Calliope." 

22.  Pegasean  fount.  Hippocrene,  the  "  Fountain  of  the  Horse,"  a 
fountain  in  Mount  Helicon  in  Bceotia,  sacred  to  the  Muses :  — 

"  Oh  for  a  beaker  full  of  the  warm  South, 
Full  of  the  true,  the  blushful  Hippocrene." 

Keats,  Ode  to  a  Nightingale. 

draught  of  Arethusa.     The  fountain  Arethusa,  in  Sicily.     See  note  4, 
above.     "The  one  sang  in  Greece,  the  other  in  Sicily." 

23.  fair  daughter  of  Tyndarus.  .  Helen.  — son  of  Thetis.  Achil- 
les.    Homer  sang  of  love  and  war,  but  Bion  of  pastoral  life. 

24.  Ascra,  in  Bceotia,  the  birthplace  of  Hesiod.  Pindar  was  born  in 
the  territory  of  Thebes,  either  at  Thebes  or  Cynocephalae.  Alcaeus  was  a 
native  of  Lesbos;  Anacreon,  of  Teos,  an  Ionian  city  in  Asia  Minor; 
Archilochus,  of  Paros;  and  Sappho,  of  Mytilene. 

25.  Theocritus.  Some  have  supposed  from  this  passage  that  Theoc- 
ritus was  still  alive,  and  lamented  the  death  of  Bion. 

26.  Ausonian  sorrow.  That  part  of  the  Mediterranean  adjoining 
Sicily  was  called  the  Ausonian  Sea,  from  Auson,  the  son  of  Odysseus. 
Hence  Moschus,  the  Sicilian,  calls  his  sorrow  Ausonian  or  Sicilian. 

27.  to  me  thy  minstrelsy.  It  is  from  this  stanza  that  we  are  led  to 
infer  that  Moschus  was  the  pupil  of  Bion. 


48  THE  BOOK  OF  ELEGIES. 

28.  unawakening  sleep :  — 

"  Whence  is  it  that  the  flowret  of  the  field  doth  fade, 
And  lyeth  buried  long  in  Winters  bale  ? 
Yet,  soon  as  Spring  his  mantle  hath  displayde, 
It  flowreth  fresh,  as  it  should  never  fayle  ? 
But  thing  on  earth  that  is  of  most  availe, 
As  vertues  branch  and  beauties  bud, 
Reliven  not  for  any  goode." 

Spenser,  Shepheards  Calender,  November. 

"  For  there  is  hope  of  a  tree,  if  it  be  cut  down,  that  the  tender  branch  thereof 
will  not  die.  Though  the  root  thereof  wax  old  in  the  earth,  and  the  stock 
thereof  die  in  the  ground,  yet  through  the  scent  of  water  it  will  bud,  and  bring 
forth  boughs  like  a  plant.  But  man  dieth,  and  wasteth  away.  .  .  .  Man  lieth 
down,  and  riseth  not ;  till  the  heavens  be  no  more,  they  shall  not  awake,  nor 
be  raised  out  of  their  sleep."  —  Job  xiv.  7-12. 

29.  poison.  This  is  all  that  we  know  about  the  manner  of  Bion's 
death.     Compare  with  Adonais,  xxxvi. 

30.  no  music  in  his  soul.     See  Merchant  of  Venice,  Act  v.,  Sc.  I :  — 

"  The  man  that  hath  no  music  in  himself,"  etc. 

31.  like  Orpheus  to  Tartarus.  Orpheus  descended  into  Hades  (not 
Tartarus)  that  he  might  restore  to  life  his  wife  Eurydice.  See  Virgil's 
Georgics,  iv.  See  also  Pope's  Ode  on  St.  Cecilia's  Day.  Odysseus  visited 
"the  dwelling  of  Hades  and  of  dread  Persephone  to  seek  the  spirit  of 
Theban  Teiresias,  the  blind  soothsayer,  whose  wits  abide  steadfast."  See 
Odyssey,  x.  488.  Alcides  (Herakles)  visited  the  under-world  in  the  per- 
formance of  a  task  assigned  to  him  by  Eurystheus,  namely,  "  to  bring  from 
Erebus  the  loathed  hound,  Cerberus."     See  Iliad,  viii.  367. 

32.  the  Maiden.  Persephone,  the  daughter  of  Demeter.  While 
gathering  flowers  on  the  Nysian  plain,  near  Etna,  in  Sicily,  she  was  seized 
by  Aidoneus  (Pluteus),  and  borne  in  his  chariot  to  his  gloomy  halls  in  the 
under- world,  there  to  become  his  queen. 

33.  "  He  sung,  and  hell  consented 

To  hear  the  poet's  prayer ; 
Stern  Proserpine  relented, 
And  gave  him  back  the  fair." 

Pope,  Ode  on  St.  Cecilia's  Day. 

"  And  now  retracing  his  way,  he  had  overpassed  all  dangers ;  and  Eurydice 
was  just  approaching  the  regions  above,  following  him;  for  Proserpina  had 
given  him  that  law.  .  .  .  He  stopped,  and  unmindful  and  not  master  of  him- 
self, looked  back  on  his  Eurydice."  —  Virgil,  Georgics,  iv. 


TWO   ELEGIES 


DEATH    OF  SIR    PHILIP  SIDNEY 


ASTROPHEL 
By  Edmund  Spenser 

A  PASTOR  ALL  s&GLOGUE 
By  L.  B. 


Written  about  1587 


Sir  Philip  Sidney  having  gone  over  into  the  Low- Countries  to  aid 
his  Uncle,  Robert  Dudley,  Earl  of  Leicester,  in  defending  the  united 
Provinces  against  the  Spanish  cruelties,  he  was  given  command  of  the 
cautionary  Town  of  Flushing;  a  Trust  which  he  so  faithfully  discharged 
that  he  turned  the  Envy  of  the  Dutch  Townsmen  into  Affection  and 
Admiration.  Not  long  after  some  service  was  to  be  performed  nigh  Zut- 
phen  in  Gelderland,  where  the  English  through  false  intelligence  were 
mistaken  in  the  strength  of  the  Enemy.  Sir  Philip  is  imployed  next 
to  the  Chief  in  that  Expedition ;  which  he  so  discharged  that  it  is  ques- 
tionable whether  his  Wisdom,  Lndustry,  or  Valour  may  challenge  to  it 
self  the  greatest  praise  of  the  Action.  And  now  as  the  triumphant 
Laurel  was  ready  to  be  wreathed  about  his  brows,  the  English  so  near 
the  Victory  that  they  touched  it,  ready  to  lay  hold  upon  it,  an  unlucky 
Bullet  shot  him  thorow  the  thigh,  so  that  the  pain  thereof  put  him  into 
a  Feaver  and  blasted  the  expectations  of  Christendom  in  his  sudden 
and  unexpected  death.  ...  So  general  was  the  lamentation  at  his 
Funerals,  that  a  face  thereat  might  sooner  be  found  without  Eyes  than 
without  Tears.  Lt  was  accounted  a  sin  for  any  Gentleman  of  Quality, 
for  many  months  after,  to  appear  at  Court  or  City  in  any  light  or  gaudy 
Apparel;  and,  though  a  private  Subject,  such  solemnities  were  pre- 
formed at  his  Interment  for  the  quality  and  multitude  of  Mourners, 
that  few  Princes  in  Christendom  have  exceeded,  if  any  excelled,  the  sad 
Magnificence  thereof  .  .  .  Nor  indeed  were  the  Muses  dumb  at  this 
time  of  universall  Sorrow ;  but  many  Poets  essayed  to  render  in  Verse 
due  homage  to  his  Memory.  Edmund  Spenser,  who  afterwards  did 
indite  The  Faerie  Queene,  collected  six  of  these  Poems  into  a  volume, 
himself  writing  for  it  the  following  introductory  Elegie. 


&strop!)ri. 


A  Pastorall  Elegie  upon  the  Death  of  the  Most  Noble  and  Most  Valorous  Knight, 
Sir  Philip  Sidney.  Dedicated  to  the  Most  Beautifull  and  Vertuous  Ladie,  the  Countess 
of  Essex. 

By  Edmund  Spenser. 

1  Shepheards,  that  wont,  on  pipes  of  oaten  reed, 
Oft  times  to  2plaine  your  loves  concealed  smart; 

And  with  your  piteous  layes  have  learned  to  breed 
Compassion  in  a  countrey  lasses  hart; 

Hearken,  ye  gentle  shepheards,  to  my  song, 

And  place  my  dolefull  plaint  your  plaints  emong 

To  you  alone  I  sing  this  mournfull  verse, 

The  mournfullst  verse  that  ever  man  heard  tell : 

To  you  whose  softened  hearts  it  may  empierse 
With  dolours  dart  for  death  of  Astrophel. 

To  you  I  sing  and  to  none  other  8  wight, 

For  well  I  4  wot  my  rymes  bene  rudely  dight. 

Yet  as  they  been,  if  any  5  nycer  wit 

Shall  hap  to  heare,  or  covet  them  to  read : 

Thinke  he,  that  such  are  for  such  ones  most  fit, 
Made  not  to  please  the  living  but  the  dead. 

And  if  in  him  found  6  pity  ever  place, 

Let  him  be  moov'd  to  pity  such  a  case. 


A  gentle  Shepheard  borne  in  7  Arcady, 
Of  gentlest  race  that  ever  shepheard  bore, 

About  the  grassie  bancks  of  8  Haemony, 

Did  keepe  his  sheep,  his  litle  9  stock  and  store. 

Full  carefully  he  kept  them  day  and  night, 

In  fairest  fields ;  and  Astrophel  he  hight. 
51 


52  THE   BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

Young  Astrophel,  the  pride  of  shepheards  praise, 

Young  Astrophel,  the  rusticke  lasses  love : 
Far  10  passing  all  the  pastors  of  his  daies, 
io      In  all  that  seemly  shepheard  might  behove. 
In  one  thing  onely  fayling  of  the  best, 
That  he  was  not  so  happie  as  the  rest. 

For  from  the  time  that  first  n  the  Nymph,  his  mother, 
Him  forth  did  bring,  and  taught  her  lambs  to  feed ; 

A  sclender  swaine,  excelling  far  12  each  other,     , 
In  comely  shape,  like  her  that  did  him  breed, 

He  grew  up  fast  in  goodnesse  and  in  grace, 

And  doubly  faire  woxe  both  in  mynd  and  face. 

Which  daily  more  and  more  he  did  augment, 
20      With  gentle  usage  and  demeanure  myld  : 
That  all  mens  hearts  with  secret  ravishment 

He  stole  away,  and  13weetingly  beguyld. 
14  Ne  Spight  it  selfe,  that  all  good  things  doth  spill, 
Found  ought  in  him,  that  she  could  say  was  ill. 

His  sports  were  faire,  his  ioyance  innocent, 

Sweet  without  soure,  and  15  honny  without  gall : 

And  he  himselfe  seemd  made  for  meriment, 
Merily  masking  both  in  bowre  and  hall. 

There  was  no  pleasure  nor  delightfull  play, 
3°  When  Astrophel  so  ever  was  away. 

For  16  he  could  pipe,  and  daunce,  and  caroll  sweet, 
Emongst  the  shepheards  in  their  shearing  feast ; 

As  17  somers  larke  that  with  her  song  doth  greet 
The  dawning  day  forth  comming  from  the  East. 

And  layes  of  love  he  also  could  compose : 

Thrise  happie  she,  whom  he  to  praise  did  chose. 


ON   THE  DEATH  OF  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY,  53 

Full  many  Maydens  often  did  him  woo, 

Them  to  vouchsafe  emongst  his  rimes  to  name, 

Or  make  for  them  as  he  was  wont  to  doo 

18  For  her  that  did  his  heart  with  love  inflame.  40 

For  which  they  promised  to  dight  for  him 

Gay  chapelets  of  flowers  and  gyrlonds  trim. 

And  19  many  a  Nymph  both  of  the  wood  and  brooke, 

Soone  as  his  oaten  pipe  began  to  shrill, 
Both  christall  wells  and  shadie  groves  forsooke 

To  heare  the  charmes  of  his  enchanting  skill ; 
And  brought  him  presents,  flowers  if  it  were  m  prime, 
Or  mellow  fruit  if  it  were  harvest  time. 

But  he  for  none  of  them  did  care  a  whit, 

Yet  21  WoodgodS  for  them  often  sighed  sore ;  t  50 

Ne  for  their  gifts  unworthie  of  his  wit, 

Yet  not  unworthie  of  the  countries  store. 
For  one  alone  he  cared,  for  one  he  sigh't 
His  lifes  desire,  and  his  deare  loves  delight. 

Stella  the  faire,  the  fairest  star  in  skie, 

As  faire  as  Venus  or  the  a  fairest  faire, 
(A  fairer  star  saw  never  living  eie,) 

Shot  her  sharp  pointed  beames  through  purest  aire. 
Her  he  did  love,  her  he  alone  did  honor, 
His  thoughts,  his  rimes,  his  songs  were  all  upon  her.        60 

To  her  he  vowd  the  service  of  his  daies, 

On  her  he  spent  the  riches  of  his  wit ; 
For  her  he  made  ^  hymnes  of  immortall  praise, 

For  onely  her  he  sung,  he  thought,  he  writ. 
Her,  and  but  her,  of  love  he  worthie  deemed ; 
For  all  the  rest  but  litle  he  esteemed. 


54  THE  BOOK  OF  ELEGIES. 

Ne  her  with  ydle  words  alone  he  wowed, 

And  verses  vaine,  (yet  verses  are  not  vaine,) 
But  with  brave  deeds  to  her  sole  service  vowed, 
70      And  bold  atchievements  her  did  entertaine. 
For  both  in  deeds  and  words  he  nourtred  was, 
Both  wise  and  u  hardie,  (too  hardie  alas !) 

In  wrestling  nimble,  and  in  renning  swift, 

In  shooting  steddie,  and  in  swimming  strong ; 

Well  made  to  strike,  to  throw,  to  leape,  to  lift, 
And  all  the  sports  that  shepheards  are  emong. 

In  every  one  he  vanquisht  every  one, 

He  vanquisht  all,  and  vanquisht  was  of  none. 

Besides,  in  hunting  such  felicitie 
80      Or  rather  infelicitie  he  found,  * 

That  every  field  and  forest  far  away 

He  sought  where  25  salvage  beasts  do  most  abound. 
No  beast  so  salvage  but  he  could  it  kill, 
No  chace  so  hard,  but  he  therein  had  skill. 

Such  skill,  matcht  with  such  courage  as  he  had, 
Did  prick  him  forth  with  proud  desire  of  praise 

To  seek  abroad,  of  daunger  nought  26  y'  drad, 
His  mistresse  name,  and  his  own  fame,  to  raise. 

What  needeth  perill  to  be  sought  abroad, 
9°  Since  round  about  us  it  27  doth  make  aboad  ? 

It  fortuned,  as  he  that  perilous  game 
In  2®  f orreine  soyle  pursued  far  away, 

Into  a  forest  wide  and  waste  he  came, 

Where  store  he  heard  to  be  of  salvage  pray. 

So  wide  a  forest  and  so  waste  as  this, 

Nor  famous  29  Ardeyn,  nor  f owle  Arlo,  is. 


ON   THE  DEATH  OF  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  55 

There  his  welwoven  toyles,  and  subtil  traines, 

He  laid  the  ^brutish  nation  to  enwrap ; 
So  well  he  wrought  with  practise  and  with  paines, 

That  he  of  them  great  troups  did  soone  entrap.  i 

Full  happie  man  (misweening  much)  was  hee, 
So  rich  a  spoile  within  his  power  to  see. 

Eftsoones,  all  heedlesse  of  his  dearest  31  hale, 

Full  greedily  into  the  M  heard  he  thrust, 
To  slaughter  them,  and  worke  their  finall  ffl  bale, 

Least  that  his  M  toyle  should  of  their  troups  be  brust. 
Wide  wounds  emongst  them  many  one  he  made, 
Now  with  his  sharp  borespear,  now  with  his  blade. 

His  care  was  all  how  he  them  all  might  kill, 

That  none  might  scape,  (so  partiall  unto  none :)  i 

35  111  mynd  so  much  to  mynd  anothers  ill, 
As  to  become  unmyndfull  of  his  owne. 

But  pardon  that  unto  the  cruell  skies, 

That  from  himselfe  to  them  withdrew  his  eies. 

So  as  he  rag'd  emongst  the  beastly  rout, 

A  cruell  beast  of  most  accursed  brood 
Upon  him  turnd,  (despeyre  makes  cowards  stout,) 

And,  with  fell  tooth  accustomed  to  blood, 

36  Launched  his  thigh  with  so  mischievous  might, 

That  it  both  bone  and  muscles  37  ryved  quight.  i 

So  deadly  was  the  dint  and  deep  the  wound, 

And  so  huge  streames  of  blood  thereout  did  flow, 

That  he  endured  not  the  direfull  w  stound, 

But  on  the  cold  deare  earth  himselfe  did  throw ; 

And  ^  whiles  the  captive  heard  his  nets  did  rend, 

And,  having  none  *°  to  let,  to  wood  did  wend. 


56  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

41  Ah !  where  were  ye  this  while  his  shepheard  peares, 

To  whom  alive  was  nought  so  deare  as  hee ; 
And  ye  faire  Mayds,  the  matches  of  his  yeares, 
130     Which  in  his  grace  did  boast  you  most  to  bee  ? 
Ah  !  where  were  ye,  when  he  of  you  had  need, 
To  stop  his  wound  that  wondrously  did  bleed  ? 

Ah  !  wretched  boy,  the  shape  of  *  dreryhead, 
And  sad  ensample  of  man's  suddein  end ; 

Full  litle  faileth  but  thou  shalt  be  dead, 
43  Unpitied,  unplaynd,  of  foe  or  f rend  ! 

Whilest  none  is  nigh,  M  thine  eylids  up  to  close, 

And  kisse  thy  lips  like  faded  leaves  of  rose. 

A  sort  of  shepheards  sewing  of  the  chace, 
140     As  they  the  forest  raunged  on  a  day, 
By  fate  or  fortune  came  unto  the  place, 

Where  as  the  lucklesse  boy  yet  bleeding  lay ; 
Yet  bleeding  lay,  and  yet  would  still  have  bled, 
Had  not  good  hap  those  shepheards  thether  led. 

They  stopt  his  wound,  (too  late  to  stop  it  was !) 
And  in  their  armes  then  softly  did  him  reare : 

45  Tho  (as  he  wild)  unto  his  loved  lasse, 

His  dearest  love,  him  dolefully  did  beare. 
The  dolefulst  biere  that  ever  man  did  see, 
150  Was  Astrophel,  but  dearest  unto  mee ! 

46  She,  when  she  saw  her  Love  in  such  a  plight, 
With  crudled  blood  and  filthie  gore  deformed, 

That  wont  to  be  with  flowers  and  gyrlonds  dight, 

And  her  deare  favours  dearly  well  adorned ; 
Her  face,  the  fairest  face  that  eye  mote  see, 
She  likewise  did  deforme  like  him  to  bee. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY,  57 

Her  yellow  locks  that  shone  so  bright  and  long, 

As  sunny  beames  in  fairest  somers  day, 
She  fiersely  tore,  and  with  outragious  wrong 

From  her  red  cheeks  the  roses  rent  away :  170 

And  her  faire  brest,  the  threasury  of  ioy, 
She  spoyld  thereof,  and  filled  with  annoy. 

His  palled  face,  impictured  with  death, 

She  bathed  oft  with  teares  and  dried  oft : 
And  47  with  sweet  kisses  suckt  the  wasting  breath 

Out  of  his  lips  like  lillies  pale  and  soft. 
And  oft  she  cald  to  him,  who  answered  nought, 
But  onely  by  his  lookes  did  tell  his  thought. 

The  rest  of  her  impatient  regret, 

And  piteous  mone  the  which  she  for  him  made,  170 

No  toong  can  tell,  nor  any  forth  can  set, 

But  he  whose  heart  like  sorrow  did  invade. 
At  last  when  paine  his  vitall  poures  had  spent, 
His  wasted  life  her  weary  lodge  48  forwent. 

Which  when  she  saw,  she  staied  not  a  whit, 

But  after  him  did  make  untimely  haste : 
Forthwith  her  ghost  out  of  her  corps  did  flit, 

And  followed  her  make  like  49  turtle  chaste  : 
To  prove  that  death  their  hearts  cannot  divide, 
Which  living  were  in  love  so  firmly  tide.  180 

The  gods,  which  all  things  see,  this  same  beheld, 

And,  pittying  this  paire  of  lovers  trew, 
Transformed  them  there  lying  on  the  field 

Into  one  M  flowre  that  is  both  red  and  blew ; 
It  first  grows  red,  and  then  to  blew  doth  fade, 
Like  Astrophel,  which  thereinto  was  made. 


58  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES, 

And  in  the  midst  thereof  a  star  appeares, 

As  fairly  f ormd  as  any  star  in  skyes  : 
Resembling  Stella  in  her  freshest  yeares, 
190      Forth  darting  beames  of  beautie  from  her  eyes : 
And  all  the  day  it  standeth  full  of  deow, 
Which  is  the  teares,  that  from  her  eyes  did  flow. 

That  hearbe  of  some,  Starlight  is  cald  by  name, 
Of  others  Penthia,  though  not  so  well : 

But  thou,  where  ever  thou  doest  finde  the  same, 
From  this  day  forth  do  call  it  Astrophel : 

And,  when  so  ever  thou  it  up  doest  take, 

Do  pluck  it  softly  for  that  shepheards  sake. 

Hereof  when  tydings  far  abroad  did  passe, 
200     The  shepheards  all  which  loved  him  full  deare, 
And  sure  full  deare  of  all  he  loved  was, 

Did  thether  flock  to  see  what  they  did  heare. 
And  when  that  pitteous  spectacle  they  vewed, 
The  same  with  bitter  teares  they  all  bedewed. 

And  every  one  did  make  exceeding  mone, 

With  inward  anguish  and  great  grief e  opprest : 

And  every  one  did  weep  and  waile,  and  mone, 
And  meanes  deviz'd  to  show  his  sorrow  best. 

That  from  that  houre,  since  first  on  grassie  greene 
210  Shepheards  kept  sheep,  was  not  like  mourning  seen. 


ON   THE  DEATH  OF  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  59 


&  ^astoraii  aeglogue-51 

Lycon.     Colin. 

Lycon.    Colin,    well    fits    thy   sad    cheare    this    sad 
62  stownd, 
This  wofull  stownd,  wherein  all  things  complaine 
This  great  mishap,  this  greevous  losse  of  owres. 
Hear'st  thou  the  ^  Orown  ?  how  with  hollow  sownd 
He  slides  away,  and  murmuring  doth  plaine, 
And  seemes  to  say  unto  the  fading  flowres, 
Along  his  bankes,  unto  the  bared  trees :  — 
64  Phillisides  is  dead!     Up,  iolly  swaine, 
Thou  that  with  skill  canst  tune  a  doleful  lay, 
Help  him  to  mourn.     My  hart  with  grief  doth  freese,       io 
Hoarse  is  my  voice  with  crying,  else  a  part 
Sure  would  I  beare,  though  *  rude  :    But  as  I  may, 
With  sobs  and  sighes  I  second  will  thy  song, 
And  so  expresse  the  sorrowes  of  my  hart. 

Colin.   Ah  Lycon,  Lycon,  what  need  skill  to  teach 
A  grieved  mynd  powre  forth  his  plaints !  how  long 
Hath  the  ^pore  turtle  gon  to  school  (weenest  thou) 
To  learne  to  mourne  her  lost 57  make  !  No,  no,  each 
Creature  by  nature  can  tell  how  to  waile. 
Seest  not  these  flocks,  how  sad  they  wander  now  ?  20 

Seemeth  their  leaders  bell  their  bleating  tunes 
In  dolefull  sound.     Like  him,  not  one  doth  faile 
With  hanging  head  to  shew  a  heavie  cheare. 


60  THE  BOOK  OF  ELEGIES. 

What  bird  (I  pray  thee)  hast  thou  seen,  that  58  prunes 
Himselfe  of  late  ?     Did  any  cheerfull  note 
Come  to  thine  eares,  or  gladsome  sight  appeare 
Unto  thine  eies,  since  that  same  f atall  howre  ? 
Hath  not  the  aire  put  on  his  mourning  coat, 
And  testified  his  grief  with  flowing  teares  ? 
30  Sith  then,  it  seemeth  each  thing  to  his  powre 
Doth  us  invite  to  make  a  sad  consort ; 
Come,  let  us  ioyne  our  mournfull  song  with  theirs. 
Griefe  will  endite,  and  sorrow  will  enforce 
Thy  voice ;  and  echo  will  our  words  report. 

Lycon.    Though  my  rude  rymes  ill  with  thy  verses 
frame, 
That  others  f arre  excell ;  yet  will  I  force 
My  selfe  to  answere  thee  the  best  I  can, 
And  honor  my  base  words  with  his  high  name. 
But  if  my  plaints  annoy  thee  where  thou  sit 
40  In  secret  shade  or  cave,  vouchsafe  (O  59  Pan) 
To  pardon  me,  and  hear  this  60hard  constraint 
With  patience,  while  I  sing,  and  pittie  it. 
And  eke  ye  rurall  Muses,  that  do  dwell 
In  these  wilde  woods,  if  ever  piteous  plaint 
Ye  did  endite,  or  taught  a  wofull  minde 
With  words  of  pure  affect  his  griefe  to  tell, 
Instruct  me  now.     Now,  Colin,  then  go  on, 
And  I  will  follow  thee,  though  f arre  behinde. 

Colin  sings. 
Phillisides  is  dead.     61 0  harmfull  death, 
50  O  deadly  harme  !     Unhappy  Albion, 

When  shalt  thou  see,  emong  thy  shepheardes  all 
Any  so  sage,  so  perfect  ?     Whom  62  urieath 


ON   THE  DEATH  OF  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY,  61 

Envie  could  touch  for  vertuous  life  and  skill 

Curteous,  valiant,  and  liberall. 

Behold  the  sacred  63  Pales,  where  with  haire 

Untrust  she  sitts,  in  shade  of  yonder  hill ; 

And  her  faire  face,  bent  sadly  downe,  doth  send 

A  floud  of  teares  to  bathe  the  earth ;  and  there 

Doth  call  the  heav'ns  despightfull,  envious, 

Cruell  his  fate,  that  made  so  short  an  end  60 

Of  that  same  life,  well  worthie  to  have  bene 

Prolonged  with  many  yeares,  happie  and  famous. 

The  w  Nymphs  and  Oreades  her  round  about 

Do  sit  lamenting  on  the  grassie  grene ; 

And  with  shrill  cries,  beating  their  whitest  brests, 

Accuse  the  direfull  dart  that  death  sent  out 

To  give  the  fatall  stroke.     The  starres  they  blame 

That  deafe  or  carelesse  seeme  at  their  request. 

The  pleasant  shade  of  stately  groves  they  shun ; 

They  leave  their  cristall  springs,  where  they  wont  frame  70 

Sweet  bowres  of  myrtel  twigs  and  lawrel  faire, 

To  sport  themselves  free  from  the  scorching  sun. 

And  now  the  hollow  caves  where  horror  darke 

Doth  dwell,  whence  banisht  is  the  gladsome  aire, 

They  seeke ;  and  there  in  mourning  spend  their  time 

With  wailf ull  tunes,  whiles  65  wolves  do  howl  and  barke, 

And  seem  to  beare  a  bourdon  to  their  plaint. 

Lycon  sings. 
Phillisides  is  dead !  O  dolef ull  ryme ! 
Why  should  by  toong  expresse  thee  ?     Who  is  left 
Now  to  uphold  thy  hopes,  when  they  do  faint,  80 

Lycon  unfortunate  !     What  spitefull  fate, 
66  What  lucklesse  destinie,  hath  thee  bereft 
Of  thy  chief  comfort  —  of  thy  onely  stay ! 


62  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

Where  is  become  thy  wonted  happie  state, 
(Alas !)  wherein  through  many  a  hill  and  dale, 
Through  pleasant  woods,  and  many  an  unknown  way 
Along  the  bankes  of  many  silver  streames 
Thou  with  him  yodest ;  and  with  him  didst  scale 
The  craggie  rocks  of  th'  Alpes  and  Appenine ! 

90  Still  with  the  Muses  sporting,  while  those  beames 
Of  vertue  kindled  in  his  noble  brest, 
Which  after  did  so  gloriouslly  forth  shine ! 
But  (woe  is  me !)  they  now  yquenched  are 
All  suddeinly,  and  death  hath  them  opprest. 
Loe  67  father  Neptune,  with  sad  countenance, 
How  he  sits  mourning  on  the  strond  now  bare, 
Yonder,  where  th'  Ocean  with  his  rolling  waves 
The  white  feete  washeth  (wailing  this  mischance) 
Of  Dover  cliffes.     His  sacred  skirt  about, 

100  The  sea-gods  all  are  set ;  from  their  moist  caves 
All  for  his  comfort  gathered  there  they  be. 
The  68Thamis  rich,  the  Humber  rough  and  stout, 
The  fruitfull  Severne,  with  the  rest  are  come 
To  helpe  their  lord  to  mourne,  and  eke  to  see 
The  dolefull  sight,  and  sad  pomp  funerall, 
Of  the  dead  corps  passing  through  his  kingdome. 
And  all  the  heads,  with  69  cypres  gyrlonds  crown'd 
With  wofull  shrikes  salute  him  great  and  small, 
Eke  wailfull  Echo,  forgetting  her  deare 

no  Narcissus,  their  last  accents  doth  resownd.    ' 

Colin  sings  again. 

Phillisides  is  dead  !     O  lucklesse  age ; 

O  widow  world ;  70  O  brookes  and  fountains  cleere ; 

O  hills,  O  dales,  O  woods,  that  oft  have  rong 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  63 

With  his  sweet  caroling,  which  could  asswage 

The  fiercest  wrath  of  tygre  or  of  beare : 

Ye  Silvans,  Fawnes,  and  71  Satyres,  that  emong 

These  thickets  oft  have  daunst  after  his  pipe ; 

Ye  Nymphs  and  Nayades  with  golden  heare, 

That  oft  have  left  your  purest  cristall  springs 

To  hearken  to  his  layes,  that  coulden  wipe  120 

Away  all  grief e  and  sorrow  from  your  harts : 

Alas !  who  now  is  left  that  like  him  sings  ? 

When  shall  you  heare  againe  like  harmonie  ? 

So  sweet  a  sownd  who  to  you  now  imparts  ? 

Loe  where  engraved  by  his  hand  yet  lives 

The  name  of  Stella  in  yonder  72  bay  tree. 

Happie  name  !  happie  tree  !  faire  may  you  grow, 

And  spred  your  sacred  branch,  which  honor  gives 

To  famous  Emperours,  and  Poets  crowne. 

73  Unhappie  flock  that  wander  scattred  now,  130 

What  marvell  if  through  grief  ye  woxen  leane, 

Forsake  your  food,  and  hang  your  heads  adowne ! 

For  such  a  shepheard  never  shall  you  guide, 

Whose  parting  hath  of  weale  bereft  you  cleane. 

Lycon  sings  again. 
Phillisides  is  dead !  O  happie  sprite, 
That  now  in  heav'n  with  blessed  soules  doest  bide : 
Looke  down  awhile  from  where  thou  74  sitst  above, 
And  see  how  busie  shepheards  be  to  endite 
Sad  songs  of  grief,  their  sorrowes  to  declare, 
And  gratefull  memory  of  their  kynd  love.  140 

Behold  my  selfe  with  Colin,  gentle  swaine, 
(Whose  lerned  Muse  thou  cherisht  most  whyleare,) 
Where  we,  thy  name  recording,  seeke  to  ease 
The  inward  torment  and  tormenting  paine, 


64  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

That  thy  departure  to  us  both  hath  bred ; 
Ne  can  each  others  sorrow  yet  appease. 
Behold  the  fountains  now  left  desolate, 
And  withred  grasse  with  cypres  boughes  he  spred ; 
Behold  these  75  floures  which  on  thy  grave  we  strew ; 
150  Which,  faded,  shew  the  givers  faded  state, 

(Though  eke  they  shew  their  fervent  zeale  and  pure,) 
Whose  onely  comfort  on  thy  welfare  grew. 
Whose  praiers  importune  shall  the  heav'ns  for  ay, 
That,  to  thy  ashes,  rest  they  may  assure  : 
That  learned  shepheards  honor  may  thy  name 
With  yeerly  praises,  and  the  Nymphs  alway 
Thy  tomb  may  deck  with  fresh  and  sweetest  flowres ; 
And  that  forever  may  endure  thy  fame. 

Colin.   76  The  sun  (lo  !)  hastned  hath  his  face  to  steep 
160  In  western  waves  ;  and  th'  aire  with  stormy  showres 
Warnes  us  to  drive  homewards  our  silly  sheep : 
Lycon,  lett's  rise,  and  take  of  them  good  keep. 
Virtute  summa  ;  ccetera  fortuna. 

L.  B. 


NOTES. 

The  Authors. 

I.  Edmund  Spenser  was  born  in  London  about  the  year  1552.  In 
1569  he  entered  Pembroke  College,  Cambridge,  where  in  due  course  of 
time  he  received  the  degree  of  M.A.  It  was  probably  at  college  that  he 
became  acquainted  with  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  by  whom  he  was  afterwards 
introduced  to  the  queen's  favorite,  the  Earl  of  Leicester.  In  1579  he 
published  his  Shepheards  Calender,  which  placed  him  at  once  in  the  front 
rank  of  English  poets.  In  1580,  as  secretary  to  Lord  Grey  de  Wilton,  he 
went  to  Ireland  where,  with  the  exception  of  two  visits  to  England,  he 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  65 

remained  during  the  rest  of  his  life.  The  first  three  books  of  the  Faerie 
Queene  were  published  in  1590,  and  the  second  three  in  1596.  In  1598 
an  insurrection  occurred  in  Ireland,  and  Kilcolman  Castle,  Spenser's  resi- 
dence, was  burned  by  the  rebels,  he  himself  with  his  family  escaping  with 
great  difficulty.  Early  in  the  following  year,  broken-hearted  and  in  great 
distress,  he  died  in  King  Street,  Westminster. 

"  Spenser  was  not  only  a  great  poet  himself,  but  in  a  singular  degree 
was  the  cause  —  that  is,  the  immediate  cause  —  of  poetry  in  others."  — 
Hales. 

"  Of  all  poets,  Spenser  is  the  most  poetical."  —  Hazlitt. 

II.  Ludovick  Brysket,  the  author  of  the  Pastor  all  Aeglogue,  was 
Spenser's  predecessor  in  the  service  of  the  Council  of  Munster,  Ireland, 
and  an  intimate  friend  not  only  of  the  poet,  but  doubtless  of  Sir  Philip 
Sidney  also.  It  is  from  a  pamphlet  written  by  him,  entitled  A  Discourse 
of  Civil  Life  and  published  in  1606,  that  we  have  the  first  trustworthy 
account  of  the  composition  of  the  Faerie  Queene.  Of  his  poetical  works 
we  have  only  the  two  pieces  included  in  the  tribute  to  Sidney  mentioned 
below. 

The  Introduction. 

For  the  Introduction  I  am  indebted  largely  to  $i\o<f>L\nru>s,  the  biog- 
rapher of  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  whose  quaint  sketch  of  the  life  of  his  friend 
forms  the  preface  to  the  latter's  Arcadia  in  the  edition  of  1674. 

The  Poems. 

The  elegy  entitled  Astrophel  is  Spenser's  contribution  to  a  collection  of 
memorial  poems  on  the  death  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  written  probably  in 
1587,  but  not  published  until  1595.  It  is  made  to  serve,  in  fact,  as  an 
introduction  to  a  poetical  "  handfull  of  flowers  that  decked  the  mourn- 
full  herse  of  Sidney  " ;  for,  after  Spenser,  — 

"  full  many  other  moe, 
As  everie  one  in  order  loved  him  best, 
Gan  dight  themselves  t'expresse  their  inward  woe, 
With  dolefull  lays  unto  the  time  addrest. 
The  which  I  here  in  order  will  rehearse." 

This  collection  included  The  Dolefull  Lay  of  Clorinda,  probably  by 
Sidney's  sister  Mary,  the  Countess  of  Pembroke ;  The  Mourning  Muse  of 
Thestylis,  and  A  Pastorall  Aeglogue,  by  Ludovick  Brysket,  "  a  swaine  of 
gentle  wit  and  daintie  sweet  device,  whom  Astrophel  full  deare  did  enter- 
taine";    An  Elegie,  or  Friends  Passion  for  his  Astrophely  by   Matthew 


66  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

Roydon;  and  two  short  poems  whose  authorship  is  unknown.  We  here 
present  the  introduction,  Astrophel,  and  the  second  of  Brysket's  poems, 
A  Pastor  all  Aeglogue. 

Astrophel  (lover  of  a  star).  Sir  Philip  Sidney  —  a  name  assumed  by 
himself,  and  frequently  applied  to  him  by  his  friends  and  admirers.  As 
the  name  Philip  Sidney  is  fancifully  derived  from  philos,  a  lover,  and  sidus, 
a  star,  so  Astrophel  is  derived  from  astron,  a  star,  and  philos.  Penelope 
Devereux,  the  daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Essex,  for  whom  Sidney  entertained 
a  passion,  was  called  Stella,  or  the  Star,  and  to  her  his  sonnets,  entitled 
Astrophel  and  Stella,  were  addressed. 

"  But  while  as  Astrofell  did  live  and  raine, 
Amongst  all  these  was  none  his  paragone." 

Spenser,  Colin  Clouts  come  Home  Again,  450. 

1.  Shepheards.  Courtiers,  friends  of  Sidney.  Shepherds  and  flocks 
are  indispensable  to  pastoral  poetry. — pipes  of  oaten  reed.  The  typical 
musical  instrument  of  pastoral  life.  Compare  with  Lycidas,  33  and  88; 
also  with  Milton's  Comus,  345  :  — 

"  Might  we  but  hear 
The  folded  flocks  penn'd  in  their  wattled  cotes, 
Or  sound  of  pastoral  reed  with  oaten  stops." 

Also  with  Shakespeare,  Love's  Labour's  Lost,  v.  2 :  — 

"  When  shepherds  pipe  on  oaten  straws." 

2.  plaine.     Lament.     From  Lat.  plangere,  to  beat  the  breast :  — 

11  We  with  piteous  heart  unto  you  pleyne."  —  Chaucer. 

See  also  plaint,  below.  — loves.     The  apostrophe  was  not  used  by  the 
earlier  English  writers  as  a  sign  of  the  possessive  case  of  nouns. 

3.  wight.     Person,  human  being.     From  A.-S.  wiht. 

4.  WOt.  Know.  Present  tense,  third,  singular  of  the  old  verb  wit. 
From  A.-S.,  witan.—  my  rymes  bene  rudely  dight.  My  rhymes  be 
roughly  adorned  or  arranged.     Compare  with  Skelton  (1460- 15  29)  :  — 

"  Though  my  rhyme  be  ragged, 
Tattered  and  gagged, 
Rudely  rain-beaten, 
Rusty,  moth-eaten, 
Yf  ye  take  welle  therewithe, 
It  hath  in  it  some  pithe." 


ON   THE  DEATH  OF  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  67 

5.  nycer.  More  exacting.  —  wit.  See  wight,  note  3,  above;  also 
wot,  note  4,  and  note  the  force  of  both  in  this  word. 

6.  pity.  Observe  the  play  upon  the  noun  pity  and  the  verb  to  pity, 
below.  An  example  of  euphuism,  an  affected  style  of  expression  very 
fashionable  among  the  gallants  of  the  court  of  Queen  Elizabeth.  See  also 
the  use  of  p/aine,  plaint,  and  plaints  in  the  first  stanza. 

7.  Arcady.  Arcadia  was  the  land  of  shepherds,  of  simple  country 
life  and  manners,  of  homely  enjoyment  and  contentment.  It  was,  even 
more  than  Sicily,  the  land  of  pastoral  song.  So  pastoral  poetry  is  often 
called  Arcadic.  But  it  is  probably  in  reference  to  Sidney's  authorship  of 
the  romance  entitled  Arcadia  that  Spenser  here  speaks  of  him  as  "  born 
in  Arcady." 

"  Sidney,  than  whom  a  gentler,  braver  man, 
His  own  delightful  genius  never  feigned, 
Illustrating  the  vales  of  Arcady 
With  courteous  courage  and  with  loyal  loves."  —  Southey. 

8.  Haemony.  Hsemonia,  a  town  in  Arcadia,  founded  by  Haemus. 
Also  the  ancient  name  of  Thessaly.  See  Milton's  use  of  the  word  in  an 
entirely  different  sense  in  Comus,  637,  as  a  plant  "  of  sovran  use  'gainst  all 
enchantments,"  etc. 

9.  stock.  "  In  what  an  almost  infinity  of  senses  the  word  stock  is 
employed.  We  have  live  stock;  .r/0^-in- trade;  the  village  stocks;  the 
stock  of  a  gun;  the  stock  dove;  the  stocks  on  which  ships  are  built;  the 
stock  which  goes  round  the  neck;  the  family  stock;  the  stocks  or  public 
funds  in  which  money  is  invested;  and  other  stocks  besides  these.  What 
point  in  common  can  we  find  among  them  all?  This  —  they  are  all  derived 
from,  and  were  originally  the  past  participle  of,  to  stick,  which,  as  it  now 
makes  stuck,  made  formerly  stock,  and  they  cohere  in  the  idea  of  fixedness 
which  is  common  to  them  all.  Thus  the  stock  of  a  gun  is  that  in  which 
the  barrel  is  fixed ;  the  village  stocks  are  those  in  which  the  feet  are  fast- 
ened; the  stock-'m-tr&de  is  the  fixed  capital,  and  so  too  is  the  stock  on  the 
farm,  although  the  fixed  capital  has  there  taken  the  shape  of  horses  and 
cattle;  in  the  stocks,  or  public  funds,  money  sticks  fast,  inasmuch  as  those 
who  place  it  there  cannot  withdraw  the  capital,  but  receive  only  the  inter- 
est; the  stock  of  a  tree  is  fast  set  in  the  ground,  and  from  this  use  of  the 
word,  it  is  transferred  to  a  family;  the  stock  or  stirps  is  that  from  which  it 
grows,  and  out  of  which  it  unfolds  itself."  —  Trench.  —  hight.  Was 
called.  Although  active  in  form,  this  word,  used  in  the  present  tense  or 
as  a  preterite,  is  passive  in  meaning.     From  A.-S.  hatan,  to  call. 

10.  passing  all  the  pastors.  Observe  the  euphuism.  —  pastors. 
Shepherds.     From  Lat.  pascere,  to  pasture. 


68  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

ii.  the  Nymph,  his  mother.  "His  mother  was  Daughter  to  John 
Dudley,  Duke  of  Northumberland.  We  know  that  a  Pippin  grafted  on  a 
Pippin  is  called  a  Renate,  as  extracted  from  Gentil  Parentage.  Gardeners 
have  a  mystery  by  Innoculating  Roses  on  Roses  (the  original,  they  say  of 
the  Province)  to  make  them  grow  double.  I  could  in  like  manner  avow 
the  double  excellency  of  such,  who  are  descended  of  Noble  Ancestors."  — 
$i\o<f>l\nru)s. 

12.  each  other.     That  is,  every  other  swain. 

13.  weetingly.     Wittingly,  knowingly. 

14.  Ne.  Not. — spill.  Destroy,  mar.  From  A.-S.,  spillan,  to 
destroy.  "  Spill  not  the  morning,  the  quintessence  of  the  day,  in  recrea- 
tions."—  Fuller. 

"  To  choose  whether  she  would  him  save  or  spill." 

Chaucer \  Wife  of  Baths  Tale. 

15.  "A  little  gall  embitters  a  great  deal  of  honey."  —  Spanish  Proverb. 

16.  he  could  pipe.     Compare  with  Lycidas,  line  10. 

17.  somers  larke,  etc.    Compare  with  Shakespeare,  Cymbeline>  ii.  3 :  — 

"  The  lark  at  heaven's  gate  sings 
And  Phoebus  gins  rise." 

18.  For  her.  For  "  Stella,"  Penelope  Devereux.  See  note  on  Astro- 
phel,  above,  and  note  46,  below. 

19.  many  a  Nymph.    Compare  with  Lycidasf  35. 

20.  prime.     Spring. 

"  Hope  waits  upon  the  flowery  prime."  —  Waller. 

21.  Woodgods.  Referring  doubtless  to  some  of  Sidney's  companions 
or  contemporaries.  So  the  companions  of  Lycidas  were  fauns  and  satyrs. 
See  Lycidas,  34. 

22.  fairest  faire,  etc.     Euphuism  again. 

23.  hymnes.  The  sonnets  entitled  Astrophel  and  Stella,  in  which 
Sidney  celebrated  his  love  for  Lady  Devereux.     See  note  46,  below. 

24.  hardie.     Resolute,  brave.     Compare  with  Chaucer :  — 

"  Hap  helpeth  hardy  man  alway." 

25.  salvage.  The  old  form  of  the  word  savage.  From  Lat.  silva,  a 
wood;  silvaticusy  belonging  to  a  wood. 

26.  y'drad.     Dreading,  fearing. 

27.  doth  make  aboad.     Doth  dwell. 

28.  forreine  soyle.      Holland.      See  introductory  note,  page  50.— 


ON   THE  DEATH   OF  SIR   PHILIP  SIDNEY.  69 

forest  wide.  The  country  in  the  neighborhood  of  Flushing  and  Zutphen, 
where  the  battle  was  fought. 

29.  Ardeyn.  Probably  Ardennes,  an  ancient  forest  of  great  extent  in 
the  north  of  France.  This  forest  is  made  famous  in  Boiardo's  Orlando 
Innamorato  (1495),  and  is  probably  the  forest  of  Arden  of  Shakespeare's 
As  You  Like  It :  — 

"  OIL   Where  will  the  old  Duke  live  ? 

Cha.  They  say  he  is  already  in  the  Forest  of  Arden,  and  a  many  merry 
men  with  him;  and  there  they  live  like  the  old  Robin  Hood  of  England."  — 
Act  i.,  Sc.  1. 

There  was  also  a  forest  of  Arden  in  the  central  part  of  England.  But  the 
Arden  of  the  poets,  wherever  it  may  have  been  (whether  Arden,  Ardeyn, 
or  Ardennes),  was  a  product  of  the  imagination  :  — 

"  The  forest-walks  of  Arden's  fair  domain, 
Where  Jaques  fed  his  solitary  vein, 
No  pencil's  aid  as  yet  had  dared  supply, 
Seen  only  by  the  intellectual  eye."  —  Charles  Lamb. 

As  to  the  fowle  Arlo,  it  was  possibly  suggested  by  the  ancient  village  of 
Arlon  in  northern  France  almost  surrounded  by  the  forest  of  Ardennes. 

30.  brutish  nation.  The  Spanish.  Spenser  here  forgets  his  meta- 
phors, and  lapses  into  literal  terms  and  expressions. 

31.  dearest  hale.  Best  welfare,  safety.  Akin  to  hale  (or  hail), 
sound,  healthy,  whole.     From  O.  E.  heil. 

32.  heard.  The  poet  returns  to  his  metaphors,  and  the  "brutish 
nation  "  becomes  a  "  herd  "  of  cruel  beasts,  a  "  beastly  rout,"  etc. 

33.  bale.     Destruction.     From  A.-S.  bealu,  evil. 

34.  toyle.     Ambush,  trap,  nets.     Now  commonly  used  in  the  plural, 

toils :  — 

"  Toils  for  beasts,  and  lime  for  birds  were  found."  —  Dryden. 

troups.     Crowds. — brust.     Burst. 

35.  Ill  mynd.  Unfortunate  disposition.  Observe  the  euphuism  in 
these  lines,  using  ill  as  an  adjective  and  a  noun,  and  mynd  as  a  noun,  a 
verb,  and  an  adjective  (in  unmyndfull). 

36.  Launched  his  thigh.  See  The  Lament  for  Adonis  (page  25, 
line  3).     Launch,  to  pierce  as  with  a  lance,  to  lance. 

37.  ryved.     Split,  cleaved  asunder,  rifted. 

38.  stound.     Sudden  pain.     Akin  to  stun,  stunned. 

39.  whiles.     Meanwhile. — nets.     See  note  34,  above. 

40.  to  let.  To  hinder,  or  prevent.  From  A.-S.  lettan.  The  same 
word  with  the  opposite  meaning,  to  permit,  is  from  A.-S.  laetan.     In  its 


ft)  THE  BOOK  OF  ELEGIES. 

first  meaning  it  is  now  obsolete  except  in  the  legal  phrase,  "  without  let 
or  hindrance." 

41.  Ah!    where  were   ye?     Compare  with  Lycidas,  50;    with  the 
Sorrow  of  Daphnis,  line  3;   and  with  A donais f  ii.  1.     See  note  3,  page  14. 

42.  dreryhead.     Sorrow,  dismalness  =  drearihood:  — 

"  She  grew  to  hideous  shape  of  dryrihed, 
Pined  with  grief  of  folly  late  repented."  —  Spenser,  Muiopotmos. 

43.  unpitied,  etc.     Compare  with  Scott :  — 

"  And,  doubly  dying,  shall  go  down, 
Unwept,  unhonored,  and  unsung." 

Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel,  vi.  1. 

44.  thine  eylids  up  to  close.     Compare  with  Dry  den :  — 

"  On  the  bare  earth  expos'd  he  lies, 
With  not  a  friend  to  close  his  eyes."  —  Alexanders  Feast 

Also  with  Pope,  Elegy  on  an  unfortunate  Lady,  49 :  — 

"  No  friend's  complaint,  no  kind  domestic  tear 
Pleas'd  thy  pale  ghost,  or  grac'd  thy  mournful  bier ; 
By  foreign  hands  thy  dying  eyes  were  clos'd." 

Also  with  Bion's  Lament  for  Adonis  (page  21,  line  12).  —  sort.  Com- 
pany. —  sewing  of  the  chace.  Following  the  chase.  The  word  sewing  is 
akin  to  the  word  sue,  to  woo,  to  follow  up,  to  pursue. 

45.  Tho.  Then. — wild.  Willed,  wished.  Observe  the  play  on  the 
words  beare  and  Here. 

46.  She.  Referring  to  "  his  loved  lasse,"  Stella  (Lady  Devereux).  But 
the  entire  narrative  that  follows  is  purely  fanciful.  At  the  time  of  Sidney's 
death,  "Stella"  had  already  been  married  to  Lord  Rich,  and  was  then  a 
widow.  She  soon  married  a  second  time,  becoming  the  wife  of  Charles 
Blount  whom  James  I.  afterwards  created  Earl  of  Devonshire. 

47.  with  sweet  kisses,  etc.  Compare  with  the  Lament  for  Adonis, 
(page  22,  line  28). 

48.  forwent.  Departed  from,  went  out  of. — her  weary  lodge.  Its 
"  tenement  of  clay." 

49.  turtle.     See  note  56,  below. 

50.  flowre.     See  note  14,  page  33. 

51.  The  Pastoral  Aeglogue  is  the  fourth  in  the  collection  of  poems  on 
the  death  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney.  Its  poetical  merits  are  not  of  a  high 
order,  but  it  is  given  here  rather  to  show  its  probable  connection  with,  and 
influence  upon,  other  works  of  the  same  class.     Of  the  two  shepherds 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  71 

(poets)  represented  as  talking,  Lycon  is  Bryskett  himself.     "  Colin "  is 
"Colin  Clout,"  or  Spenser.     See  lines  81-89. 

52.  stownd.  Time,  or  occasion.  See  note  38,  above,  for  the  use  of 
the  word  stound,  which  has  a  very  different  meaning. 

53.  Orown.  Probably  a  river  or  other  stream  of  water  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  the  writer's  home  or  near  the  country  residence  of  the  Sidneys. 

54.  Phillisides.  Phil.  Sid.,  Philip  Sidney;  philos,  a  lover;  sidus,  a 
star.     See  note  on  Astrophel,  above. 

55.  rude.     See  note  4,  on  my  rytnes  bene  rudely  dight,  above. 

56.  pore  turtle.  The  poor  turtle-dove,  noted  for  its  mournful  note 
and  believed  to  have  great  affection  for  its  mate :  — 

"  Why  then,  sir,  I  will  take  a  liberty  to  tell  or  rather  to  remember  you  what 
is  said  of  turtle-doves,  —  first  that  they  silently  plight  their  troth  and  marry ; 
and  that  then  the  survivor  scorns,  as  the  Thracian  women  are  said  to  do,  to 
outlive  his  or  her  mate,  and  this  is  taken  for  truth ;  and  if  the  survivor  shall 
ever  couple  with  another,  then  not  only  the  living  but  the  dead,  be  it  either  the 
he  or  the  she,  is  denied  the  name  and  honor  of  a  true  turtle-dove."  —  Izaak 
Walton,  Complete  Angler. 

"  The  moan  of  doves  in  immemorial  elms."  —  Tennyson,  The  Princess. 

"  The  Turtle  by  him  never  stird, 
Example  of  immortall  love."  —  Matthew  Roydon. 

The  name  turtle  was  not  applied  to  the  tortoise  until  about  1 610,  twenty 
years  after  the  writing  of  this  poem. 

57.  make.  Mate.  This  is  the  original  form  of  the  word  now  exclu- 
sively written  mate.  From  A.-S.  maca.  The  word  matcht  a  companion, 
an  equal,  is  also  from  the  same  root :  — 

"  And  of  fair  Britomart  ensample  take, 
That  was  as  true  in  love  as  turtle  to  her  make." 

The  Faerie  Queene,  iii.  IX. 

58.  prunes.     Plumes.     Sometimes  written  preens. 

59.  Pan.  The  god  of  flocks  and  herds,  and  hence  specially  regarded 
with  love  and  fear  by  all  shepherds.  He  is  described  in  the  Homeric 
hymns  as  "  lord  of  all  the  hills  and  dales  "  :  — 

"Universal  Pan 
Knit  with  the  Graces  and  the  Hours  in  dance, 
Led  on  the  eternal  Spring."  —  Milton,  Paradise  Lost,  iv.  266. 

Observe  Lycon's  sudden  change  of  address  from  his  companion,  Colin,  to 
the  god  Pan  and  the  rural  Muses.     See  The  Sorrow  of  Daphnis. 


72  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

60.  hard  constraint.  Compare  with  Milton's  "bitter  constraint," 
Lycidas,  6  (see  page  79). 

61 .  0  harmfull  death,  0  deadly  harme.  Euphuism  again.  —  Albion. 
England.  Conjecture  derives  the  word  from  Gael,  alp,  a  highland;  from 
albus.  white,  with  reference  to  the  white  cliffs  visible  from  Gaul;  or  from 
Albiones,  the  ancient  inhabitants  of  Britain. 

62.  uneath.     Scarcely. 

63.  Pales.  The  goddess  of  sheepfolds  and  pastures,  especially  revered 
by  the  Romans.  —  untrust.  Untrussed,  disarranged.  Compare  this  pas- 
sage with  Bion's  reference  to  Aphrodite's  unkempt  hair,  Lament  for 
Adonis,  page  21,  bottom.     Also  Astrophel,  57,  and  Adonais,  xiv.  4. 

64.  Nymphs  and  Oreades.     See  note  4,  page  31. 

65.  wolves.  Compare  with  The  Sorrow  of  Daphnis,  line  10,  and  with 
The  Lament  for  Bion.     Also  see  note  6,  page  15. 

66.  What  lucklesse  destinie,  etc.  Compare  with  Milton,  Lycidas, 
92  and  107;  and  see  note  8,  page  16. 

67.  father  Neptune.     See  Lycidas,  90. 

68.  Compare  the  mention  of  the  river-gods  Thamis,  Humber,  and 
Severn,  with  Milton's  reference  to  Camus,  Lycidas,  103.  See  also  note  1, 
page  44,  and  La??ient  for  Bion,  line  2. 

69.  cypres.  The  cypress  was  an  emblem  of  death,  and  was  dedicated 
by  the  Romans  to  Pluto.  —  echo.  Compare  with  Lament  for  Bion,  page 
40,  line  13,  and  with  Adonais,  xv. 

70.  Compare  these  lines  with  the  opening  lines  of  Moschus's  Lament 
for  Bion. 

71.  Satyres  .  .  .  daunst.  Compare  with  Lycidas,  34.  —  wipe  away 
all  grief e.     Compare  with  Lycidas,  181. 

72.  bay  tree.  The  laurel.  Poets  and  victors  in  the  Pythian  games 
were  crowned  with  wreaths  of  laurel.  Hence,  a  poet  laureate  was  origi- 
nally one  who  had  received  such  honor.  The  reference  here  is  doubtless 
to  Sidney's  series  of  sonnets  entitled  Astrophel  and  Stella.  See  note  I, 
page  86. 

73.  Unhappie  flock,  etc.     Compare  with  Lycidas,  125. 

74.  sitst  above.  Compare  with  Lycidas,  172  et  sea.;  and  see  note 
64,  page  93. 

75.  flowres.     See  note  15,  page  33. 

76.  The  sun,  etc.  Compare  with  Lycidas,  190-191;  and  see  note 
69,  page  94. 


DIRGE   FOR  IMOGEN 

FROM   THE    TRAGEDY  OF  CYMBELINB 
By  William  Shakespeare 


Written  about  1610 


Overtaken  by  misfortune,  Imogen,  the  daughter  of  Cymbeline,  king  of 
Britain,  was  wandering  in  a  forest,  disguised  as  a  page.  Led  bv  chance, 
she  came  to  a  cave  wherein  dwelt  old  Belarius  and  with  him  her  own 
brothers,  Polydore  and  Cadwal,  whom  he  had  stolen  from  their  father  in 
their  infancy.  She  told  them  that  her  name  was  Fidele,  and  that  she  had  lost 
her  way  while  trying  to  reach  Milford- Haven,  where  a  kinsman  of  hers  was 
about  to  embark  for  Italy.  The  wild  forest  youths,  grown  now  to  manhood' 's 
stature,  welcotned  her  to  their  rude  home,  and  she  gladly  accepted  their  press- 
ing invitation  to  stay  with  them  until  she  had  rested  from  the  fatigue  of 
her  journey.  The  longer  she  remained  with  them,  the  more  attached  did 
they  become  to  her  and  she  to  them.  "  How  angel-like  he  sings,"  said 
Polydore.  u  But  his  neat  cookery"  said  Cadwal;  "he  sauced  our  broths  as 
though  Juno  had  been  sick,  and  he  her  dieter."  Then  there  came  a  day 
when  Belarius  and  the  brothers  must  go  hunting,  for  their  stock  of  venison 
was  low.  But  Imogen  was  ill  and  could  not  go  out  with  them.  No  sooner 
was  she  left  alone  than  she  took  from  her  pocket  a  cordial  which  had  been 
given  her,  and  which  until  that  moment  she  had  forgotten,  and  drank  it  off. 
Now  the  person  from  whom  she  had  received  the  cordial  did  not  know  its 
nature,  else  he  would  not  have  given  it  to  her.  It  caused  her  to  fall  into  a 
sound  sleep,  so  deathlike  that  to  all  appearances  she  was  dead.  When  Be- 
larius and  the  brothers  returned  to  the  cave  they  found  her  lying,  as  they 
supposed  lifeless,  on  the  ground.  .  .  .  Then  they  carried  her  to  a  shady 
nook  in  the  forest,  and  with  great  sadness  in  their  hearts  covered  her  with 
leaves  and  flowers.  "  While  summer  lasts  and  I  live  here,"  said  Polydore, 
"  Pll  szveeten  thy  sad  grave  with  flowers.  Thou  shall  not  lack  the  flower 
thafs  like  thy  face,  pale  primrose  ;  nor  the  azur^d  hare-bell,  like  thy  veins  ; 
no,  nor  the  leaf  of  eglantine,  whom  not  to  slander,  out-sweetened  not  thy 
breath.  All  these  will  I  strew  d> er  thee."  .  .  .  And  then  the  brothers  sang 
repose  to  the  spirit  of  their  unknown  guest. 


Btrge  for  Emogen* 

Fear  no  more  the  heat  o'  th'  sun, 
Nor  the  furious  winter's  rages ; 

Thou  thy  worldly  task  hast  done, 

Home  art  gone,  and  ta'en  thy  wages : 

Golden  lads  and  girls  all  must, 

As  chimney-sweepers,  come  to  dust. 

Fear  no  more  the  frown  o'  th'  great, 
Thou  art  past  the  tyrant's  stroke ; 

Care  no  more  to  clothe  and  eat ; 
To  thee  the  reed  is  as  the  oak  : 

The  sceptre,  learning,  physic,  must 

All  follow  this,  and  come  to  dust. 

Fear  no  more  the  lightning-flash, 
Nor  th'  all-dreaded  thunder-stone ; 

Fear  no  slander,  censure  rash ; 
Thou  hast  flnish'd  joy  and  moan : 

All  lovers  young,  all  lovers  must 

Consign  to  thee,  and  come  to  dust. 

No  exorciser  harm  thee ! 
Nor  no  witchcraft  charm  thee ! 
Ghost  unlaid  forbear  thee  ! 
Nothing  ill  come  near  thee ! 
Quiet  consummation  have ; 
And  renowned  be  thy  grave  ! 
75 


76  THE  BOOK  OF  ELEGIES. 

[A  variation  by  William  Collins,  1 746.] 

DIRGE   IN    CYMBELINE. 

To  fair  Fidele's  grassy  tomb 

Soft  maids  and  village  hinds  shall  bring 
Each  opening  sweet  of  earliest  bloom, 

And  rifle  all  the  blooming  Spring. 

No  wailing  ghost  shall  dare  appear, 
To  vex  with  shrieks  this  quiet  grove, 

But  shepherd  lads  assemble  here, 
And  melting  virgins  own  their  love. 

No  wither'd  witch  shall  here  be  seen, 
No  goblins  lead  their  nightly  crew ; 

The  female  fays  shall  haunt  the  green, 
And  dress  thy  grave  with  pearly  dew. 

The  red-breast  oft  at  evening  hours 
Shall  kindly  lend  his  little  aid, 

With  hoary  moss  and  gather'd  flowers, 
To  deck  the  ground  where  thou  art  laid. 

When  howling  winds  and  beating  rain, 
In  tempests  shake  thy  sylvan  cell; 

Or  'midst  the  chase  on  every  plain, 

The  tender  thought  on  thee  shall  dwell. 

Each  lonely  scene  shall  thee  restore, 
For  thee  the  tear  be  duly  shed ; 

Belov'd  till  life  can  charm  no  more ; 
And  mourn'd  till  Pity's  self  be  dead. 


LYCIDAS 

A  PASTORAL  ELEGY  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  EDWARD  KING 
By  John  Milton 

1637 


Edward  King  was  the  son  of  Sir  John  King,  who  during  the  later  years 
of  Elizabeth  and  the  reigns  of  the  first  two  Stuarts  was  royal  Secretary 
for  Ireland.  He  was  a  young  man  of  many  accomplishments  and  much 
promise.  In  1626,  when  only  fourteen  years  of  age,  he  entered  Christ's 
College,  Cambridge,  where  Milton,  then  in  his  third  college  year,  was  laying 
the  foundation  for  his  future  illustrious  career.  King  became  at  once  a 
favorite  among  the  students.  He  composed  verses  —  some  of  which,  written 
in  Latin,  are  still  preserved,  and  after  graduation  he  was  made  a  fellow  and 
tutor  in  the  college.  It  was  the  intention  of  himself  and  his  friends  that  he 
should  enter  the  Church,  and  his  studies  were  all  directed  towards  prepar- 
ing him  for  that  important  and  responsible  position,  yust  at  the  time  when 
the  promises  of  his  life  seemed  brightest,  he  decided  upon  making  a  visit  to 
some  of  his  friends  in  Ireland,  and  took  passage  on  board  a  vessel  at  Chester 
for  that  purpose.  When  off  the  Welsh  coast  the  ship  struck  upon  a  rock, 
and  through  the  blow  leaked  and  gaped.  "  While  the  other  voyagers  busied 
themselves  in  vain  with  mortal  life,"  says  a  contemporary,  "  King,  aspiring 
after  the  immortal,  threw  himself  upon  his  knees,  and  as  he  prayed  was 
swallowed  up  by  the  waters  along  with  the  vessel,  and  gave  his  life  to  God, 
on  the  10th  of  August,  in  the  year  of  salvation  i6jy,  of  his  life  twenty-five." 
A  few  months  after  this  deplorable  event  a  small  volume  of  verses  in  honor 
of  the  young  scholar  was  published  in  Cambridge.  It  contained  thirty-six 
pieces  {twenty-three  of  which  were  in  Greek  or  Latin),  and  one  of  them 
was  entitled Lycidas  and  signed  J.  M.,  with  the  date  "  Novemb.  1637" 


ILgctoas* 


oXKo 


1  Yet  once  more,  O  ye  laurels,  and  once  more, 
Ye  myrtles  brown,  with  ivy  never  sere, 
I  come  to  pluck  your  berries  harsh  and  crude, 
And  with  2  forc'd  ringers  rude, 

3  Shatter  your  leaves  before  the  mellowing  year. 

4  Bitter  constraint  and  sad  occasion  dear 
Compels  me  to  disturb  your  season  due ; 
For  Lycidas  is  dead,  dead  ere  his  prime, 
Young  Lycidas,  and  hath  not  left  his  peer : 
6  Who  would  not  sing  for  Lycidas  ?  he  knew 
Himself  to  sing  and  build  the  lofty  rhyme. 
He  must  not  float  upon  his  watery  bier 
Unwept,  and  welter  to  the  parching  wind 
Without  the  meed  of  some  6  melodious  tear. 

7  Begin,  then,  Sisters  of  the  sacred  well 
That  from  beneath  the  seat  of  Jove  doth  spring ; 
Begin,  and  somewhat  loudly  8  sweep  the  string. 
Hence  with  denial  vain  and  coy  excuse : 
So  may  some  gentle  9  Muse 
With  lucky  words  favor  my  destin'd  urn, 
And,  as  he  passes,  turn 
And  bid  fair  peace  be  to  my  10  sable  shroud. 

For  we  were  nurs'd  upon  the  self-same  hill,11 
Fed  the  same  flock,  by  fountain,  shade,  and  rill ; 

79 


80  THE  BOOK  OF  ELEGIES. 

Together  both,  ere  the  12  high  lawns  appear'd 
Under  the  opening  eye-lids  of  the  13  Morn, 
We  14  drove  afield,  and  both  together  heard 
What  time  the  gray-fly  winds  15  her  sultry  horn, 
16  Battening  our  flocks  with  the  fresh  dews  of  night, 

30  Oft  till  the  star  that  rose  at  evening  bright 

Toward   heaven's   descent  had   slop'd   his  17  westering 

wheel. 
Meanwhile  the  rural  ditties  were  not  mute ; 
Temper' d  to  the  18  oaten  flute, 

Rough  19  Satyrs  danc'd,  and  Fauns  with  cloven  heel 
From  the  glad  sound  would  not  be  absent  long ; 
And  2°  old  Damoetas  lov'd  to  hear  our  song. 

But,  O  the  heavy  change,  now  thou  art  gone, 
Now  thou  art  gone,  and  never  must  return ! 
Thee,  shepherd,  thee  the  al  woods  and  desert  caves 

40  With  wild  thyme  and  the  gadding  vine  o'ergrown, 
And  all  their  ffl  echoes  mourn  : 
The  willows  and  the  hazel  copses  green, 
Shall  now  no  more  be  seen 
Fanning  their  joyous  leaves  to  thy  soft  lays. 
As  killing  as  the  M  canker  to  the  rose, 
Or  u  taint-worm  to  the  weanling  herds  that  graze, 
Or  frost  to  flowers,  that  their  gay  wardrobe  wear 
When  the  first  white-thorn  blows, 
Such,  Lycidas,  thy  loss  to  shepherd's  ear. 

50      M  Where  were  ye,  Nymphs,  when  the  remorseless  deep 
Clos'd  o'er  the  head  of  your  lov'd  Lycidas  ? 
For  neither  were  ye  playing  on  26  the  steep 
Where  your  old  bards,  the  famous  Druids,  lie, 
Nor  on  the  •  shaggy  top  of  Mona  high, 
Nor  yet  where  M  Deva  spreads  her  wizard  stream : 
Ay  me  !  I  M  fondly  dream  ! 


LYCIDAS.  81 

Had  ye  been  there  —  for  what  could  that  have  done  ? 

What  could  the  ^  Muse  herself  that  Orpheus  bore, 

The  Muse  herself,  for  her  enchanting  son 

Whom  universal  Nature  did  lament, 

When,  by  the  rout  that  made  the  hideous  roar, 

His  gory  visage  down  the  stream  was  sent, 

Down  the  swift  Hebrus  to  the  Lesbian  shore  ? 

Alas !  what  31  boots  it  with  incessant  care 
To  tend  the  homely,  slighted  shepherd's  trade, 
And  strictly  meditate  the  thankless  Muse  ? 
Were  it  not  better  done,  as  others  use, 
To  sport  with  Amaryllis  in  the  shade, 
Or  with  the  tangles  of  Neaera's  hair  ? 
Fame  is  ®  the  spur  that  the  clear  spirit  doth  raise 
(That  last  infirmity  of  noble  mind) 
To  scorn  delights  and  live  laborious  days ; 
But  the  fair  guerdon  when  we  hope  to  find, 
And  think  to  burst  out  into  sudden  w  blaze, 
Comes  the  M  blind  Fury  with  abhorred  shears 
And  slits  the  thin-spun  life.     "  But  not  the  praise," 
Phoebus  replied,  and  touch'd  my  *  trembling  ears ; 
"  Fame  is  no  plant  that  grows  on  mortal  soil, 
Nor  in  the  ^  glistering  foil 
Let  off  to  the  world,  nor  in  broad  rumor  lies : 
But  lives  and  spreads  aloft  by  those  37  pure  eyes 
And  perfect  witness  of  all-judging  Jove ; 
As  he  pronounces  lastly  on  each  deed, 
Of  so  much  fame  in  heaven  expect  thy  meed." 

O  fountain  ^Arethuse,  and  thou  honor'd  flood 
Smooth-sliding  Mincius,  crown'd  with  vocal  reeds ! 
That  strain  I  heard  was  of  a  higher  mood ;  • 
But  now  my  ®  oat  proceeds, 
And  listens  to  the  ^  herald  of  the  sea 


82  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

90  That  came  in  Neptune's  plea. 

He  ask'd  the  waves,  and  ask'd  the  felon  winds, 
What  hard  mishap  hath  doom'd  this  gentle  swain  ? 
And  question'd  every  gust  of  41  rugged  wings 
That  blows  from  off  each  beaked  promontory. 
They  knew  not  of  his  story ; 
And  sage  *  Hippotades  their  answer  brings, 
That  not  a  blast  was  from  his  dungeon  stray'd ; 
The  air  was  calm,  and  on  the  level  brine 
Sleek  43  Panope  with  all  her  sisters  play'd. 

100  It  was  that  fatal  and  perfidious  bark, 

Built  in  the  M  eclipse,  and  rigg'd  with  curses  dark, 
That  sunk  so  low  that  sacred  head  of  thine. 

Next  45  Camus,  reverend  sire,  went  footing  slow, 
His  mantle  hairy,  and  his  bonnet  sedge, 
Inwrought  with  figures  dim,  and  on  the  edge 
Like  to  that  sanguine  flower  inscrib'd  with  woe. 
"  Ah  !  who  hath  reft  "  (quoth  he)  "  my  dearest  pledge  ? " 
Last  came,  and  last  did  go, 
The  m  pilot  of  the  Galilean  lake ; 

no  Two  massy  keys  he  bore  of  metals  twain, 
(The  golden  opes,  the  iron  shuts  amain,) 
He  shook  his  miter'd  locks,  and  stern  bespake : 

"  How  well  could  I  have  spared  for  thee,  young  swain, 
Enow  of  such,  as  for  their  bellies'  sake 
Creep  and  intrude  and  47  climb  into  the  fold  ? 
Of  other  care  they  little  reckoning  make 
Than  how  to  scramble  at  the  shearers'  feast, 
And  shove  away  the  worthy  bidden  guest. 
48  Blind  mouths !  that  scarce  themselves  know  how  to 
hold 

120  A  sheep-hook,  or  have  learnt  aught  else  the  least 
That  to  the  faithful  herdman's  art  belongs ! 


LYCIDAS.  83 

What  49  recks  it  them  ?     What  need  they  ?     They  are 

sped; 
And,  when  they  list,  their  lean  and  flashy  songs 
Grate  on  their  scrannel  pipes  of  wretched  straw ; 
The  M  hungry  sheep  look  up  and  are  not  fed, 
But,  swoln  with  wind  and  the  rank  mist  they  draw, 
Rot  inwardly,  and  foul  contagion  spread : 
Besides  what  the  51  grim  wolf  with  privy  paw 
Daily  devours  apace,  and  nothing  sed  : 
But  that  52  two-handed  engine  at  the  door 
Stands  ready  to  smite  once,  and  smite  no  more." 

Return  ^  Alpheus,  the  dread  voice  is  past 
That  shrunk  thy  streams ;  return,  Sicilian  Muse, 
And  call  the  vales,  and  bid  them  hither  cast 
Their  bells  and  M  flowrets  of  a  thousand  hues. 
Ye  valleys  low,  where  the  mild  whispers  use 
Of  shades  and  wanton  winds  and  gushing  brooks 
On  whose  fresh  lap  the  swart-star  sparely  looks, 
Throw  hither  all  your  quaint  enamell'd  eyes, 
That  on  the  green  turf  suck  the  honey'd  showers, 
And  purple  all  the  ground  with  vernal  flowers. 
Bring  the  M  rathe  primrose  that  forsaken  dies, 
The  tufted  crow-toe,  and  pale  jessamine, 
The  white  pink,  and  the  pansy  freak'd  with  jet, 
The  glowing  violet, 

The  musk-rose,  and  the  well-attir'd  woodbine, 
With  cowslips  wan  that  hang  the  pensive  head, 
And  every  flower  that  sad  embroidery  wears  : 
Bid  amaranthus  all  his  beauty  shed, 
And  daffadillies  fill  their  cups  with  tears, 
To  strew  the  M  laureate  hearse  where  Lycid  lies. 
For,  so  to  interpose  a  little  ease, 
57  Let  our  frail  thoughts  dally  with  false  surmise  ; 


84  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

Ay  me !  whilst  thee  the  shores  .and  sounding  seas 
Wash  far  away,  where'er  thy  bones  are  hurl'd, 
Whether  beyond  the  stormy  Hebrides, 
Where  thou,  perhaps,  under  the  whelming  tide 
Visit'st  the  bottom  of  the  58  monstrous  world ; 
Or  whether  thou,  to  our  moist  vows  denied, 
160  Sleep'st  by  the  fable  of  59  Bellerus  old, 

Where  the  great  vision  of  the  guarded  mount 
Looks  toward  Namancos  and  Bayona's  hold ; 
Look  homeward,  60  angel,  now,  and  melt  with  ruth, 
And  O  ye  dolphins,  waft  the  hapless  youth. 

61  Weep  no  more,  wof ul  shepherds,  weep  no  more, 
For  Lycidas  your  sorrow  is  62  not  dead, 
Sunk  though  he  be  beneath  the  watery  floor. 
So  sinks  the  day-star  in  the  ocean  bed, 
And  yet  anon  repairs  his  63  drooping  head, 

170  And  tricks  his  beams,  and  with  new-spangled  ore 
Flames  in  the  forehead  of  the  morning  sky : 
So  Lycidas  sunk  low,  but  mounted  high, 
Through  the  dear  might  of  him  that  walk'd  the  waves, 
Where,  other  groves  and  other  streams  along, 
With  nectar  pure  his  oozy  locks  he  laves, 
And  hears  the  M  unexpressive  nuptial  song, 
In  the  blest  kingdoms  meek  of  joy  and  love. 
65  There  entertain  him  all  the  saints  above, 
In  solemn  troops,  and  sweet  societies, 

180  That  sing,  and,  singing  in  their  glory,  move, 
And  66wipe  the  tears  forever  from  his  eyes. 

Now,  Lycidas,  the  shepherds  weep  no  more ; 
Henceforth  thou  art  the  67  Genius  of  the  shore, 
In  thy  large  recompense,  and  shalt  be  good 
To  all  that  wander  in  that  perilous  flood. 


LYCIDAS.  85 

Thus  sang  the  68  uncouth  swain  to  the  oaks  and  rills, 
While  the  still  Morn  went  out  with  sandals  gray. 
He  touch'd  the  tender  stops  of  various  quills, 
With  eager  thought  warbling  his  69  Doric  lay ; 

70  And  now  the  Sun  had  stretch'd  out  all  the  hills,  190 
And  now  was  dropt  into  the  western  bay. 

71  At  last  he  rose,  and  twitch'd  his  mantle  blue : 
To-morrow  to  fresh  woods  and  pastures  new. 


NOTES. 

The  Author. 

John  Milton  was  born  in  Bread  street,  London,  December  9,  1608. 
He  was  educated  at  St.  Paul's  School,  London,  and  at  Christ's  College, 
Cambridge.  His  first  poem  of  importance  was  the  Hymn  on  the  Morning 
of  Christ's  Nativity,  written  in  1629.  This  was  followed  by  IJ  Allegro  and 
//  Penseroso,  companion  pieces,  by  the  Arcades  (1633),  and  by  the  dra- 
matic poem  Comus  (1637).  Lycidas  was  also  written  in  1637.  From 
1640  until  the  decline  of  the  Commonwealth,  Milton  took  an  active  part 
in  politics,  and  his  writings  during  this  period  were  entirely  prose.  Para- 
dise Lost,  his  greatest  work,  appeared  in  1667.  Paradise  Regained  and 
the  tragedy  Samson  Agonistes  were  published  in  1671.  Milton  died  in 
1674.     See  note  on  Adonais,  iv.  9. 

"  Milton !  thou  should'st  be  living  at  this  hour : 
England  hath  need  of  thee :  she  is  a  fen 
Of  stagnant  waters  :  altar,  sword,  and  pen, 
Fireside,  the  heroic  wealth  of  hall  and  bower, 
Have  forfeited  their  ancient  English  dower 
Of  inward  happiness.     We  are  selfish  men ; 
Oh !  raise  us  up,  return  to  us  again ; 
And  give  us  manners,  virtue,  freedom,  power. 
Thy  soul  was  like  a  Star,  and  dwelt  apart : 
Thou  hadst  a  voice  whose  sound  was  like  the  sea : 
Pure  as  the  naked  heavens,  majestic,  free, 
So  didst  thou  travel  on  life's  common  way, 
In  cheerful  godliness ;  and  yet  thy  heart 
The  lowliest  duties  on  herself  did  lay." —  Wordsworth  (1802). 


86  THE  BOOK  OF  ELEGIES. 

The  Poem. 

"This  piece,  unmatched  in  the  whole  range  of  English  poetry,  and 
never  again  equalled  by  Milton  himself,  leaves  all  criticism  behind. 
Indeed,  so  high  is  the  poetic  note  here  reached,  that  the  common  ear 
fails  to  catch  it.  Lycidas  is  the  touchstone  of  taste;  the  18th  century 
criticism  could  not  make  anything  out  of  it.  .  .  .  It  marks  the  point  of 
transition  from  the  early  Milton  of  mask,  pastoral,  and  idyl,  to  the  quite 
other  Milton,  who,  after  twenty  years  of  hot  party  struggle,  returned  to 
poetry  in  another  vein,  —  never  to  the  '  woods  and  pastures '  of  which  he 
took  a  final  leave  in  LycidasP  —  Mark  Pattison. 

The  Title. 

Lycidas  is  the  name  of  a  shepherd  in  the  second  Idyl  of  Bion,  and  in 
the  third  Eclogue  of  Virgil.  Milton  probably  selected  it  on  account  of  its 
original  signification  of  whiteness  or  purity. 

i.  Yet  once  more.  "  Milton's  conceptions  of  a  poet's  work  and  of  the 
preparation  needed  for  it  were  of  the  highest.  He  was  ever  striving  after 
■  inward  ripeness,'  and  conscious  how  far  he  was  from  attaining  it.  This 
sense  of  his  unfitness  to  perform  as  yet  a  poet's  high  duties  had  determined 
him  to  write  no  more  till  he  was  sensible  of  being  maturer;  till  'the  mel- 
lowing year '  had  dawned.  But  the  death  of  his  dear  friend  forced  him 
to  intermit  this  high  resolve.  Therefore  'yet  once  more'  would  he  write; 
he  would  yet  again  play  the  poet,  though  he  knew  well  his  proper  hour 
had  not  yet  come."  —  Hales.  —  laurels.     See  note  on  bay  tree,  page  72 :  — 

"  The  laurel,  meed  of  mightie  conquerours 
And  poets  sage."  —  Faerie  Queene,  i.  1,  9. 

myrtles.  The  myrtle  was  symbolic  of  love  and  peace.  Pliny  relates  that 
the  Romans  and  Sabines  made  friendship  under  a  myrtle  tree,  and  purified 
themselves  with  its  branches.  —  ivy.  This  plant  was  also  a  symbol  of 
friendship;  it  was  sacred  to  Bacchus,  and  like  laurel  the  meed  of  poets. 
See  Virgil's  Eclogues,  vii.  27  :  "  Ye  Arcadian  shepherds,  deck  with  ivy  your 
rising  poet."  And  viii.  13:  "Accept  my  songs  and  permit  this  ivy  to 
creep  around  thy  temples  among  thy  victorious  laurels." 

2.  forc'd.     Forceful,  violent. 

3.  shatter.     Scatter.     Compare  with  Paradise  Lost,  x.  1065  :  — 

"  The  winds 
Blow  moist  and  keen,  shattering  the  graceful  locks 
Of  these  fair-spreading  trees." 


L  YCIDAS.  87 

4.  bitter  constraint.  Compare  with  hard  constraint,  Pastor  all 
sEglogue,  41.  —  sad  occasion.  The  Pastorall  AZglogue  has  "  sad  stownd  " 
(see  note  52,  page  71).  —  dear.  Dire,  dreadful;  possibly  from  A.-S. 
derian,  to  hurt :  — 

"  Would  I  had  met  my  dearest  foe  in  heaven, 
Or  ever  I  had  seen  that  day,  Horatio."  —  Shakespeare,  Hamlet. 

The  word  dear  as  most  commonly  used,  meaning  beloved  or  costly,  is  from 
A.-S.  deare,  greatly  esteemed,  rare. 

5.  who  would  not  sing.     See  note  7,  page  31. 

6.  melodious  tear.    Tearful  melody. 

7.  Begin,  then.  Compare  with  Theocritus,  Song  of  Thy r sis  :  "  Begin, 
ye  Muses  dear,"  etc.  (see  page  9) ;  also  with  Moschus,  Lament  for  Bion  : 
"Begin,  ye  Sicilian  Muses,"  etc.  See  note  1,  page  14.  The  "Sisters  of 
the  sacred  well"  are  the  nine  Muses.  The  sacred  well  is  the  Pierian 
Spring  at  the  foot  of  Mount  Olympus,  "  the  seat  of  Jove."  '  Here,  accord- 
ing to  Hesiod,  was  the  birthplace  of  the  Muses.  Other  fountains,  as  that 
of  Helicon  in  Bceotia,  and  the  Castalian  Spring  near  Mount  Parnassus, 
were  identified  with  their  worship.     Compare  with :  — 

M  Rehearse  to  me,  ye  sacred  Sisters  nine, 
The  golden  brood  of  great  Apolloes  wit, 
Those  piteous  plaints  and  sorrowfull  sad  tune 
Which  late  ye  poured  fourth  as  ye  did  sit 
Beside  the  silver  springs  of  Helicone, 
Making  your  music  of  hart-breaking  mone !  " 

Spenser,  Teares  of  the  Muses,  1-6. 

"  With  the  Muses  of  Helicon  let  us  begin  to  sing,  with  them  who  haunt  the 
mountain,  vast  and  divine,  of  Helicon,  and  with  tender  feet  dance  round  the 
dark-colored  fountain  and  altar  of  mighty  Jove."  —  Hesiod,  Theogony,  1. 

8.  sweep  the  string.     Compare  with  Pope :  — 

"  Descend,  ye  Nine, . . . 
And  sweep  the  sounding  lyre."  —  Ode  on  St.  Cecilia's  Day. 

g.   Muse.     Poet;   as  in  Shakespeare's  Sonnet,  21 :  — 

"  So  is  it  not  with  me  as  with  that  Muse, 
Stirred  by  a  painted  beauty  to  his  verse." 

—  destin'd  urn.     Coffin,  grave.     See  note  56,  below. 

10.  sable  shroud.  Black  coffin,  —  that  is,  the  "  destin'd  urn "  men- 
tioned above. 

11.  They  had  both  been  educated  at  the  same  college  —  Christ's 
College,  Cambridge. 


88  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

12.  high  lawns.     Compare  with  Gray's  Elegy,  vii. 

13.  eyelids  of  the  Morn.    Compare  with  Romeo  and  Juliet,  ii.  3, 1  •  — 

"  The  grey-eyed  morn  smiles  on  the  frowning  night." 
And  with  Job  iii.  9,  marg. :  — 

"  Neither  let  it  see  the  eyelids  of  the  morning." 

14.  drove  afield.     See  Gray's  Elegy,  stanza  vii. 

15.  her  sultry  horn.     Compare  with  Collins:  — 

"  Or  where  the  beetle  winds 
His  small  but  sullen  horn, 
As  oft  he  rises  'midst  the  twilight  path, 
Against  the  pilgrim  borne  in  heedless  hum." —  Ode  to  Evening. 

The  gray-fly,  or  trumpet-fly,  hums  during  the  hottest  part  of  the  day. 
Compare  with  Gray's  Elegy,  ii.  3. 

16.  Battening.     Feeding,  taking  care  of. 

17.  westering.  Westward  going.  Compare  with  Chaucer,  Troilus 
and  Creseide,  ii.  906 :  — 

"  The  daies  honour  and  the  Heavens  eye 
Gan  westren  fast,  and  downward  for  to  wrie." 

18.  oaten  flute.     See  note  1,  page  66. 

19.  Satyrs  and  Fauns.  The  University  men  at  Cambridge.  But 
compare  the  expression  with  Virgil,  Eclogue  vi.  27 :  "  Then  you  might 
have  seen  the  Fauns  and  savages  frisking  in  measured  dance,  then  the 
stiff  oaks  waving  their  tops."  The  passage  is  imitated  by  Pope  in  Pasto- 
rals, ii :  — 

"  Rough  Satyrs  dance,  and  Pan  applauds  the  song." 

20.  old  Damcetas.  "Probably  W.  Chappell,  the  tutor  of  Christ's 
College  in  Milton  and  King's  time."  —  Hales.  Both  Theocritus  and  Virgil 
use  the  name  in  their  pastorals.  Damcetas  is  also  a  prominent  character 
in  Sidney's  Arcadia. 

21.  woods  and  desert  caves.  Compare  with  the  Lament  for  Bion, 
line  15,  page  40. 

22.  echoes.  See  Lament  for  Bion,  line  13,  page  40;  also  Adonais, 
stanza  15,  page  122.  Compare  with  Wordsworth,  Intimations  of  Immor- 
tality :  — 

"  I  hear  the  echoes  through  the  mountain  throng." 

23.  canker.  A  disease  incident  to  trees,  causing  the  bark  to  fall  off. 
The  word  was  also  formerly  used  to  indicate  a  worm  or  insect  injurious  to 


LYCIDAS.  89 

roses,  and  such  is  probably  its  meaning  here.  See  Shakespeare,  Mid- 
summer Night's  Dream,  ii.  2,  3  :  — 

"  Some  to  kill  cankers  in  the  musk-rose  buds." 

24.  taint-worm.  A  parasitic  insect,  or  larva,  destructive  to  animals, 
especially  sheep. 

25.  Where  were  ye,  Nymphs?  See  Sorrow  of  Dap/mis,  line  2, 
page  9;  also  note  on  the  same.  Compare  this  and  the  passage  following 
it  with  Virgil's  Eclogues,  x. :  "  What  groves,  ye  virgin  Naiads,  detained 
you?  .  .  .  For  neither  any  of  the  tops  of  Parnassus,  nor  those  of  Pindus 
nor  Aonian  Aganippe,  did  retard  you." 

26.  the  steep.  Probably  Kerig-y-Druidion  among  the  heights  of 
South  Denbighshire,  where  were  the  burial  places  of  the  Druids.  An- 
other supposition  is  that  Penmaenmawr  in  Wales  is  meant.  See  Gray's 
Bard. 

27.  shaggy  top  of  Mona.  The  island  of  Anglesey,  "called  by  the 
bards  '  the  shady  island,'  because  it  formerly  abounded  with  groves  of 
trees;   but  there  is  now  little  wood,  except  along  the  bank  of  the  Menai." 

28.  Deva.   The  river  Dee  :  — 

"  Dee,  which  Britons  long  ygone 
Did  call  divine,  that  doth  by  Chester  turn." 

Spenser,  The  Faerie  Queene,  iv.  n. 

29.  fondly.     Used  here  in  its  original  meaning  of  foolishly. 

30.  Muse.  Calliope  was  the  mother  of  Orpheus.  The  latter  was 
torn  in  pieces  by  the  Thracian  women  while  under  the  influence  of  their 
Bacchanalian  orgies.  His  head  was  thrown  into  the  Hebrus  river,  down 
which  it  floated  to  the  sea,  and  was  finally  carried  to  Lesbos,  where  it  was 
recovered  and  buried.     See  Pope's  Ode  on  St.  Cecilia's  Day  :  — 

"  See,  wild  as  the  winds,  o'er  the  desert  he  flies ; 
Hark !  Haemus  resounds  with  the  Bacchanals'  cries  — 
Ah  see,  he  dies !  " 

See  also  Virgil's  Georgics,  iv.  520 :  "The  Ciconian  matrons,  amid  the 
sacred  service  by  the  gods  and  nocturnal  orgies  of  Bacchus,  having  torn 
the  youth  in  pieces,  scattered  his  limbs  over  the  wide  fields.  And  then 
CEagrian  Hebrus  rolled  down  the  middle  of  its  tide  his  head  torn  from 
the  alabaster  neck."     See  also  Paradise  Lost,  vii.  34 :  — 

"  That  wild  rout  that  tore  the  Thracian  bard 
In  Rhodope,  where  woods  and  rocks  had  ears 
To  rapture,  till  the  savage  clamor  drown'd 
Both  harp  and  voice ;  nor  could  the  Muse  defend 
Her  son." 


90  THE  BOOK  OF  ELEGIES. 

31.  boots.  Avails.  From  A.-S.  bot,  advantage.  —  to  tend,  etc.  "Of 
what  avail  is  it  to  devote  so  much  attention  to  poetry,  or  the  poet's  trade  ?  " 

Amaryllis.  A  pastoral  sweetheart  mentioned  by  Virgil.  See  Eclogues, 
i.  4:  "You,  Tityrus,  stretched  at  ease  in  the  shade,  teach  the  wood  to 
re-echo  beauteous  Amaryllis."  A  name  applied  to  the  Countess  of  Derby 
in  Spenser's  Colin  Clouts  come  Home  Again,  435.  Milton  wrote  his  Ar- 
cades as  part  of  an  entertainment  to  be  presented  in  the  presence  of  thif 
same  lady  by  some  noble  persons  of  her  family  (1633). —  Neaera's  hair 
Compare  with  the  following  lines  from  Lovelace :  — 

"  When  I  lie  tangled  in  her  hair, 
And  fetter'd  to  her  eye, 
The  birds  that  wanton  in  the  air 
Know  no  such  liberty." 

32.  the  spur.  Hales  compares  this  passage  with  the  following  from 
Dryden :  "  Reward  is  the  spur  of  virtue  in  all  good  acts,  all  laudable 
attempts;  and  emulation,  which  is  the  other  spur,  will  never  be  wanting 
when  particular  rewards  are  proposed." 

33.  blaze.      "  For  what  is  glory  but  the  blaze  of  fame?  " 

Paradise  Regained,  iii. 

34.  blind  Fury.  Milton  evidently  means  the  Fate,  Atropos,  whose 
office  it  is  to  cut  the  thread  of  life  after  it  has  been  spun  by  her  two  sisters, 
Clotho  and  Lachesis :  — 

"  Sad  Clotho  held  the  rocke,  the  whiles  the  thrid 
By  griesly  Lachesis  was  spun  with  paine, 
That  cruell  Atropos  eftsoones  undid, 
With  cursed  knife  cutting  the  twist  in  twaine: 
Most  wretched  men,  whose  days  depend  on  thrids  so  vaine." 

The  Faerie  Queene,  iv.  2,  48. 

"  The  fatall  sisters,  Clotho,  Lachesis,  and  Atropos,  daughters  of  Herebus 
and  the  Night,  whome  the  poets  faine  to  spin  the  life  of  man,  as  it  were  a  long 
thred,  which  they  draw  out  in  length,  till  his  fatall  houre  and  timely  death  be 
come ;  but  if  by  other  casualtie  his  daies  be  abridged,  then  one  of  them,  that 
is,  Atropos,  is  said  to  have  cut  the  threed  in  twaine."  —  Shepheards  Calender, 
Glosse. 

35.  trembling  ears.  See  Virgil's  Eclogues,  vi.  3:  "When  I  offered 
to  sing  of  kings  and  battles,  Apollo  twitched  my  ear."  Touching  the 
ears  was  probably  significant  of  refreshing  the  memory.  The  tingling 
(trembling  ?)  of  the  ears  was  formerly  believed  to  indicate  that  some  one 
was  talking  about  the  person  to  whom  they  belonged :  — 


L  YCIDAS.  91 

"  One  ear  tingles ;  some  there  be 
That  are  snarling  now  at  me."  —  Herrick,  Hesperides. 

36.  glistering  foil.  Alluding  to  the  tinsel  or  metallic  leaf  used  for 
"setting  off"  jewels.  The  connection  here  is:  "  Fame  is  .  .  .  not  set  off  to 
the  world  in  glistering  foil,  nor  does  it  lie  in  broad  humor,  etc." 

37.  pure  eyes.  See  Habahkuk'x.  13:  "Thou  art  of  purer  eyes  than  to 
behold  evil." 

38.  Arethuse.  See  note  15,  page  17.  The  allusion  here  is  to  pastoral 
poetry  as  exemplified  by  Theocritus  and  other  Sicilian  poets.  See  also 
note  53,  below.  —  Mincius.  A  river  in  northern  Italy,  tributary  to  the 
Po.  The  poet  Virgil's  birthplace  was  on  its  banks.  —  smooth-sliding. 
Smoothly  gliding. 

39.  oat.     See  note  1,  page  66. 

40.  herald  of  the  sea.  Triton,  the  son  of  Neptune.  He  came  to 
plead  Neptune's  innocence  of  the  death  of  Lycidas.  He  calls  in  the  winds 
as  witnesses  for  the  defence.     Compare  with  A  Pastoral  Aiglogue,  95. 

41.  rugged  wings.     Turbulent  winds. 

42.  Hippotades.  ^Eolus,  the  god  of  the  winds,  son  of  Hippotes,  "  the 
horseman." 

43.  Panope.  One  of  the  sea-nymphs,  daughter  of  Nereus  and  Doris. 
Her  sisters  were  the  Nereides. 

44.  eclipse.  It  was  a  popular  superstition  that  a  curse  rested  upon 
whatever  was  done  during  an  eclipse.     Compare  Paradise  Lost,  i.  597 :  — 

"  As  when  the  sun  .  .  . 
.  .  .  from  behind  the  moon 
In  dim  eclipse  disastrous  twilight  sheds." 

See  also  Shakespeare,  Macbeth,  iv.  1,  28. 

The  conclusion  of  Triton's  investigations  concerning  the  causes  of  the 
wreck  is  that  the  ship  on  which  Lycidas  had  embarked  was  unseaworthy, 
and  that  she  sank  in  calm  waters. 

45.  Camus.  The  genius  of  the  river  Cam,  on  which  is  situated  Cam- 
bridge, and  the  university  wherein  Lycidas  was  nurtured, — hence  called 
"reverend    sire."      Compare    with    The    Mourning   Muse    of    Thestylis 

(1587):- 

"  The  Thames  was  heard  to  roar,  the  Reyne,  and  eke  the  Mose, 
With  torment  and  with  grief:  their  fountains  pure  and  cleere 
Were  troubled,  and  with  swelling  flouds  declared  their  woes." 

In  further  explanation  of  this  passage  Plumptre  says :  "  The  *  mantle  '  is 
as  if  made  of  the  plant  'river-sponge,'  which  floats  copiously  in  the  Cam; 
the  'bonnet'  of  the  river-sedge,  distinguished  by  vague  marks  traced 
somehow  over  the  middle  of  the  leaves  after  the  fashion  of  the  at,  at,  of 
the  hyacinth."     See  note  2,  page  44. 


92  THE  BOOK  OF  ELEGIES. 

46.  pilot.  St.  Peter.  In  Christian  art  he  is  represented,  as  here,  with 
two  keys;  hence,  two  keys,  borne  saltire-wise,  are  the  insignia  of  the 
Pope.  The  bishops  of  Winchester,  Gloucester,  Exeter,  St.  Asaph,  and 
Peterborough,  in  England,  also  bear  two  keys.  The  leading  thought  in 
the  next  twenty-three  lines  seems  to  be  the  loss  which  the  church  sustained 
by  the  death  of  Lycidas. 

47.  climb  into  the  fold.  See  John  x.  1.  M  He  that  entereth  not  by 
the  door  into  the  sheepfold,  but  climbeth  up  some  other  way,  the  same  is 
a  thief  and  a  robber."  Milton  refers  to  false  teachers  and  preachers,  and 
especially  to  the  corruptions  existing  in  the  church.  His  sympathies  are 
with  the  Puritans,  just  then  rising  into  power,  as  opposed  to  the  ritualism 
which  was  then  being  enforced  by  Archbishop  Laud. 

48.  blind  mouths.  "A  singularly  violent  figure,  as  if  men  were 
mouths  and  nothing  else."  —  Masson. 

49.  recks.  Concerns.  "  What  do  they  care?"  From  A.-S.  recan,  to 
care  for.     Compare  with  Milton's  Comus,  404 :  — 

"  Of  night  or  loneliness  it  recks  me  not." 
sped.     Provided    for.     Compare    with    Shakespeare's    Merchant    of 
Venice,  ii.  9,  72:  "So,  begone;   you  are  sped."  —  list.     Wish,  choose. 
That  is,  when  they  choose  to  exercise  the  herdsman's  art.  —  scrannel. 
Akin  to  scrawny,  lean,  thin,  insufficient. 

50.  hungry  sheep.  Compare  this  entire  passage  with  Spenser,  Shep- 
heards  Calender,  May  :  — 

"  Thilke  same  bene  shepheardes  for  the  devils  stedde, 
That  playen  while  their  flockes  be  unfedde. 
But  they  bene  hyred  for  little  pay 
Of  other,  that  cared  as  little  as  they 
What  fallen  the  flocke,  so  they  hau  the  fleece." 

51.  grim  wolf.  Probably  an  allusion  to  the  Catholic  Church,  which 
was  at  that  time  having  many  accessions. 

52.  two-handed  engine.  "  He  means  to  say  generally  that  the  time 
of  retribution  is  at  hand.  Some  commentators,  unwisely  in  my  opinion, 
take  the  words  as  a  definite  prophecy  of  Laud's  execution  (in  1645).  Cer- 
tainly they  could  never  have  been  understood  in  that  sense  at  the  time  of 
the  poem's  first  publication  '  under  the  sanction  and  from  the  press  of  one 
of  our  universities,'  and  when  ■  the  proscriptions  of  the  Star  Chamber  and 
the  power  of  Laud  were  at  their  height.' "  —  Hales.  Compare  with  Matt. 
in.  10.  w  And  now  also  the  axe  is  laid  at  the  root  of  the  trees."  Also 
Luke  iii.  9. 

53.  Alpheus.  See  note  on  Arethusa,  above.  In  the  Arcades,  Milton 
refers  to  the  — 


LYCIDAS.  93 

"  Divine  Alpheus,  who  by  secret  sluice 
Stole  under  seas  to  meet  his  Arethuse." 

The  name  is  used  here,  however,  simply  as  a  personification  of  pastoral 
poetry,  and  Milton  means  that  after  his  digression  on  churches  and  pastors 
he  will  now  return  to  his  original  strain. 

54.  flowrets.  Compare  trjis  entire  passage  with  the  passages  quoted 
or  referred  to  in  notes  15  and  16,  pages  33  and  34. 

55.  rathe.     Early.     Still  retained  in  its  comparative  form,  rather. 

56.  laureate  hearse.  Poet  tomb.  Compare  with  Milton's  Epitaph 
on  the  Marchioness  of  Winchester  :  — 

"  And  some  flowers  and  some  bays 
For  thy  hearse  to  strew  the  ways, 
Sent  thee  from  the  banks  of  Came." 

57.  Let  our  frail  thoughts,  etc.  That  is,  let  us  imagine  that  Lycidas 
really  lies  in  a  tomb  and  is  not  lost  in  the  vast  ocean. 

58.  monstrous  world.     World  of  monsters. 

59.  Bellerus.  A  Cornish  giant.  "  Bellerium  was  the  name  formerly 
given  to  the  promontory  of  the  Land's  End.  It  was  the  home  of  a  mighty 
giant,  after  whom,  in  all  probability,  the  headland  was  called."  —  Hunt's 
Romances  of  the  West  of  England.  Milton  at  first  wrote  it  Corineus,  a 
giant  from  whom  the  name  Cornwall  was  derived.  —  guarded  mount. 
Mount  St.  Michaels,  a  steep  rock  near  Penzance  in  Cornwall.  Warton 
says :  "  There  is  still  a  tradition  that  a  vision  of  St.  Michael  seated  on  this 
crag,  appeared  to  some  hermits."  The  land  here  looks  almost  directly 
towards  Namancos  and  Bayona  near  Cape  Finisterre. 

60.  angel.  St.  Michael.  That  is,  turn  your  gaze  away  from  the  dis- 
tant Spanish  coast  and  look  towards  the  shores  where  doubtless  the  body 
of  Lycidas  lies. 

61.  Weep  no  more,  etc.     See  The  Sorrow  of  Daphnisf  page  12. 

62.  not  dead.  See  Adonais,  xxxix.  1.  Compare  with  the  Countess 
of  Pembroke's  Dolefull  Lay  of  Clorinda  :  — 

"  Ay  me,  can  so  divine  a  thing  be  dead? 
Ah !  no  :  it  is  not  dead,  ne  can  it  die." 

63.  drooping  head.     Compare  with  Gray's  Bard:  — 

"  To-morrow  he  repairs  the  golden  flood." 

64.  unexpressive.     Inexpressible. — nuptial  song.     See  page  36. 

65.  There  entertain  him,  etc.  Compare  this  entire  passage  with 
The  Dolefull  Lay  of  Clorinda  :  — 


94  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

"  There  liveth  he  in  everlasting  blis, 
Sweet  Spirit  never  fearing  more  to  die : 
Ne  dreading  harm  from  any  foes  of  his, 
Ne  fearing  salvage  beasts  more  crueltie." 

Also  with  Pastor  all  ALglogue,  line  136;  also  The  Faerie  Queene,  iii.  6,  48 : 

"  There  now  he  liveth  in  eternal  blis, 
Ioying  his  goddess,  and  of  her  enioyd." 

Also  Paradise  Lost,  xi.  82 :  — 

11  By  the  waters  of  life,  where'er  they  sat 
In  fellowships  of  joy." 

Also  The  Shepheards  Calender,  November  :  — 

"  There  lives  shee  with  the  blessed  gods  in  blisse, 
There  drincks  she  nectar  with  ambrosia  mixt, 
And  ioyes  enioyes  that  mortall  men  doe  misse. 
The  honor  now  of  highest  gods  she  is." 

66.  wipe  the  tears.  Compare  with  Revelation  vii.  17:  "And  God 
shall  wipe  away  all  tears  from  their  eyes." 

67.  Genius.  Good  spirit,  guardian  angel.  —  recompense.  That  is,  in 
the  great  compensation  or  reward  which  is  thine.  Compare  with  Shake- 
speare, The  Tempest,  iv.  1,  1 :  — 

"  If  I  have  too  austerely  punished  you, 
Your  compensation  makes  amends." 

68.  uncouth.  Uncultivated,  rude;  perhaps  rather  in  the  sense  of 
unknown. 

69.  Doric  lay.     See  note  5,  page  45. 

70.  And  now,  etc.  Compare  with  Jeremiah  vi.  4 :  "  For  the  shadows 
of  the  evening  are  stretched  out."     Also  with  Pope's  Pastorals,  iii. :  — 

"  Thus  sung  the  shepherds  till  the  approach  of  night, 
The  skies  yet  blushing  with  departing  light, 
When  falling  dews  with  spangles  deck'd  the  glade, 
And  the  low  sun  had  lengthen'd  every  shade." 

And  with  Virgil,  Eclogue  i.  83 :  "  And  now  the  high  tops  of  the  villages 
smoke  afar  off,  and  longer  shadows  fall  from  the  lofty  mountains." 

71.  At  last.     Compare  with  Fletcher,  The  Purple  Island :  — 

"  Hence,  then,  my  lambs ;  the  falling  drops  eschew: 
To-morrow  shall  ye  feast  in  pastures  new." 


ELEGY 

WRITTEN  IN  A   COUNTRY  CHURCHYARD 
By  Thomas  Gray 

1750 


M  Gray's  Elegy  is  perhaps  the  most  widely  known  poem  in  our  language. 
The  reason  of  this  extensive  popularity  is  perhaps  to  be  sought  in  the  fact 
that  it  expresses  in  an  exquisite  manner  feelings  and  thoughts  that  are 
universal.  In  the  current  ideas  of  the  Elegy  there  is  perhaps  nothing  that 
is  rare,  or  exceptional,  or  out  of  the '  co?nmon  way.  The  musings  are  of 
the  most  rational  and  obvious  character  possible;  it  is  difficult  to  conceive 
of  any  one  musing  under  similar  circumstances  who  should  not  muse  so  ; 
but  they  are  not  the  less  deep  and  moving  on  this  account.  The  mystery  of 
life  does  not  become  clearer,  or  less  solemn  and  awful,  for  any  amount  of 
contemplation.  Such  inevitable,  such  everlasting  questions  as  rise  in  the 
mind  when  one  lingers  in  the  precincts  of  Death  can  never  lose  their  fresh- 
ness, never  cease  to  fascinate  and  to  move.  It  is  with  such  questions,  that 
would  have  been  commonplace  long  ages  since  if  they  could  ever  be  so,  that 
the  Elegy  deals.  It  deals  with  them  in  no  lofty  philosophical  manner,  but 
in  a  simple,  humble,  unpretentious  way,  always  with  the  truest  and  broad- 
est humanity.  The  poefs  thoughts  turn  to  the  poor ;  he  forgets  the  fine 
tombs  inside  the  church,  and  thinks  only  of  the  *  mouldering  heaps  '  in  the 
churchyard.  Hence  the  problem  that  especially  suggests  itself  is  the  poten- 
tial greatness,  when  they  lived,  of  the  '  rude  forefathers '  that  now  lie  at 
his  feet.  He  does  not  and  cannot  solve  it,  though  he  finds  considerations 
to  mitigate  the  sadness  it  must  inspire ;  but  he  expresses  it  in  all  its 
awfulness  in  the  most  effective  language  and  with  the  deepest  feeling;  and 
his  expression  of  it  has  become  a  living  part  of  our  language"  —  Rev. 
J.  W.  Hales. 


WRITTEN   IN   A    COUNTRY   CHURCHYARD. 
I. 

The  *  curfew  tolls  the  knell  of  parting  day, 
The  lowing  herd  2  wind  slowly  o'er  the  lea, 

The  ploughman  homeward  plods  his  weary  way, 
And  leaves  the  world  to  darkness  and  to  me. 


2. 

Now  fades  the  glimmering  landscape  on  the  sight, 
And  all  the  air  a  solemn  stillness  holds,3 

Save  where  the  4  beetle  wheels  his  droning  flight, 
And  drowsy  tinklings  lull  the  distant  folds : 


Save  that  from  yonder  ivy-mantled  tower, 
The  moping  owl  does  to  the  moon  complain 

Of  such  as,  wandering  near  her  secret  bower, 
Molest  her  ancient  solitary  5  reign. 

97 


THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 


4- 


Beneath  those  rugged  elms,  that  yew-tree's  shade, 
Where  heaves  6  the  turf  in  many  a  mouldering  heap, 

Each  in  his  narrow  cell  forever  laid, 

The  7  rude  forefathers  of  the  hamlet  sleep. 

5. 

The  breezy  call  of  8  incense-breathing  morn, 

The  swallow  twittering  from  the  straw-built  shed, 

The  cock's  shrill  9  clarion,  or  the  echoing  horn, 
No  more  shall  rouse  them  from  their  10  lowly  bed. 


For  them  no  more  the  blazing  hearth  shall  burn, 
Or  busy  housewife  n  ply  her  evening  care : 

No  children  run  to  lisp  their  sire's  return,12 
Or  climb  his  knees  the  envied  kiss  to  share. 


7. 

Oft  did  the  harvest  to  their  sickle  yield, 

Their  furrow  oft  the  stubborn  13  glebe  has  broke ; 

How  jocund  did  they  drive  their  team  14  afield  ! 

How  bow'd  the  woods  beneath  their  15  sturdy  stroke  ! 

8. 

Let  not  Ambition  mock  their  useful  toil, 
Their  homely  joys,  and  destiny  obscure; 

Nor  Grandeur  hear  with  a  disdainful  smile 
The  short  and  simple  annals  of  the  poor.16 


GRAY'S  ELEGY.  99 


9- 


The  boast  of  heraldry,  the  pomp  of  power, 
And  all  that  beauty,  all  that  wealth  e'er  gave, 

Awaits  alike  th'  inevitable  hour. 

The  paths  of  glory  lead  but  to  the  grave.17 


10. 


Nor  you,  ye  proud,  impute  to  these  the  fault, 
If  Memory  o'er  their  tomb  no  trophies  raise, 

Where,  through  the  long-drawn  18  aisle  and  fretted  vault, 
The  19  pealing  anthem  swells  the  note  of  praise. 


11. 


Can  2°  storied  urn  or  animated  bust 

Back  to  its  mansion  call  the  fleeting  breath  ? 

Can  Honor's  voice  21  provoke  the  silent  dust  ? 
Or  Flattery  soothe  the  dull  cold  ear  of  Death  ? 


12. 

Perhaps  in  this  neglected  spot  is  laid 

Some  heart  once  pregnant  with  celestial  fire ; ffi 

Hands,  that  the  rod  of  empire  might  have  sway'd, 
Or  waked  to  ecstasy  the  living  lyre : 

13. 

But  Knowledge  to  their  eyes  her  ample  ffl  page, 
Rich  with  the  spoils  of  time,  did  ne'er  unroll ; 

Chill  Penury  repress'd  their  noble  ^  rage, 
And  froze  the  genial  current  of  the  soul. 


100  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

14. 

Full  many  a  gem  of  purest  ray  serene, 

The  dark  unfathom'd  caves  of  ocean  bear;25 

Full  many  a  flower  is  born  to  blush  unseen, 
And  waste  its  sweetness  on  the  desert  air.26 

15. 

Some  village  Hampden,  that  with  dauntless  breast 
The  little  tyrant  of  his  fields  withstood, 

Some  mute  inglorious  Milton  here  may  rest, 

Some  Cromwell,  guiltless  of  his  country's  blood.27 

16. 

Th'  applause  of  listening  senates  to  command,28 
The  threats  of  pain  and  ruin  to  despise, 

To  scatter  plenty  o'er  a  smiling  land,29 
And  read  their  history  in  a  nation's  eyes, 

17. 

Their  lot  forbade  :  nor  circumscrib'd  alone 

Their  growing  virtues,  but  their  crimes  confin'd ; 

Forbade  to  wade  through  slaughter  to  a  throne, 
And  shut  the  gates  of  mercy  on  mankind, 

18. 

The  struggling  pangs  of  conscious  truth  to  hide, 
To  quench  the  blushes  of  ingenuous  shame, 

Or  heap  the  shrine  of  Luxury  and  Pride 
With  incense  kindled  at  the  Muse's  flame.30 


GRAY'S  ELEGY.  101 


r9* 


Far  from  the  31  madding  crowd's  ignoble  strife 
Their  sober  wishes  never  learn'd  to  stray ; 

Along  the  cool,  sequester'd  vale  of  life 

They  kept  the  noiseless  M  tenor  of  their  way. 


20. 


Yet  even  these  bones  from  insult  to  protect, 

Some  frail  memorial  still  erected  nigh, 
With  ffl  uncouth  rhymes  and  shapeless  sculpture  deck'd, 

Implores  the  passing  tribute  of  a  sigh.34 


21. 


Their  name,  their  years,  spelt  by  th'  unletter'd  Muse, 
The  place  of  fame  and  ^  elegy  supply ; 

And  many  a  holy  text  around  she  strews, 
That  teach  the  rustic  moralist  to  die. 

22. 

For  who,  to  dumb  Forgetfulness  a  prey, 
This  pleasing  anxious  being  e'er  resign'd, 

Left  the  warm  precincts  of  the  cheerful  day, 
Nor  cast  one  longing  lingering  look  behind  P36 

23. 

On  some  fond  breast  the  parting  soul  relies, 
Some  pious  drops  the  closing  eye  requires ; 37 

Even  from  the  tomb  the  voice  of  nature  cries, 
Even  in  our  ashes  live  their  wonted  fires.38 


102  TJIE  XOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

24. 

For  thee,  who,  mindful  of  th'  unhonor'd  dead, 
Dost  in  these  lines  their  artless  tale  relate, 

If  chance,  by  lonely  contemplation  led, 
Some  kindred  spirit  shall  inquire  thy  fate, 

25- 

Haply  some  hoary-headed  swain  may  say, 

"  Oft  have  we  seen  him  at  the  ®  peep  of  dawn 

Brushing  with  hasty  steps  the  dews  away, 
To  meet  the  sun  upon  the  40  upland  lawn. 

26. 

"There  at  the  foot  of  yonder  nodding  beech, 
That  wreathes  its  old  fantastic  roots  so  high, 

His  listless  length  at  noontide  would  he  stretch, 
And  pore  upon  the  brook  that  babbles  by.41 

27. 

"  Hard  by  yon  wood,  now  smiling  as  in  scorn, 
Muttering  his  wayward  fancies  he  would  rove ; 

Now  drooping,  woeful  wan,  like  one  forlorn, 
Or  craz'd  with  care,  or  cross'd  in  hopeless  love. 

28. 

"  One  morn  I  miss'd  him  on  the  custom'd  hill, 
Along  the  heath  and  near  his  favorite  tree ; 

Another  came ;  nor  yet  beside  the  rill, 
Nor  up  the  lawn,  nor  at  the  wood  was  he. 


GJRAY'S  ELEGY.  103 


29. 


"  The  next,  with  dirges  42  due  in  sad  array, 

Slow  through  the  church-way  path  we  saw  him  borne. 

Approach  and  read  (for  thou  canst  read)  the  lay 
Grav'd  on  the  stone  beneath  yon  aged  thorn."43 


THE   EPITAPH. 


30. 


Here  rests  his  head  upon  the  44  lap  of  Earth, 
A  youth,  to  Fortune  and  to  Fame  unknown : 

Fair  Science  frown'd  not  on  his  humble  birth, 
And  Melancholy  mark'd  him  for  her  own. 

31- 

Large  was  his  bounty,  and  his  soul  sincere, 
Heaven  did  a  recompense  as  largely  send ; 

He  gave  to  Misery  all  he  had,  a  tear, 

He  gain'd  from  Heaven  ('twas  all  he  wish'd)  a  friend. 

32. 

No  farther  seek  his  merits  to  disclose, 

Or  draw  his  frailties  from  their  dread  abode, 

(There  they  alike  in  trembling  hope  repose), 
The  bosom  of  his  Father  and  his  God. 


104  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

NOTES. 

The  Author. 

Thomas  Gray,  born  in  Cornhill,  London,  December  26,  171 6,  was  the 
son  of  a  money  scrivener.  He  was  educated  at"  Eton  and  at  Pembroke 
College,  Cambridge.  In  1742  he  took  up  his  residence  at  Cambridge, 
where  he  spent  the  remainder  of  his  life  chiefly  engaged  in  study.  It  is 
said  of  him  that  he  was  master  in  all  departments  of  human  learning 
except  mathematics.  His  poems  are  not  numerous,  but  they  all  bear 
the  mark  of  merit.  Besides  the  Elegy,  the  best  known  are  the  Ode  to 
Spring,  the  Ode  on  a  Distant  Prospect  of  Eton  College,  the  Ode  to  Adver- 
sity, The  Progress  of  Poesy,  and  The  Bard.  Gray  died  on  the  30th  of 
July,  1 77 1.  His  literary  and  personal  peculiarities  "are  familiar  to  us," 
says  Robert  Carruthers,  "  from  the  numerous  representations  and  allusions 
of  his  friends.  It  is  easy  to  fancy  the  recluse-poet  sitting  in  his  college 
chambers  in  the  old  quadrangle  of  Pembroke  Hall.  His  windows  are 
ornamented  with  mignonette  and  choice  flowers  in  China  vases,  but  out- 
side may  be  discerned  some  iron-work  intended  to  be  serviceable  as  a 
fire-escape,  for  he  has  a  horror  of  fire.  His  furniture  is  neat  and  select; 
his  books,  rather  for  use  than  show,  are  disposed  around  him.  He  has 
a  harpsichord  in  the  room.  In  the  corner  of  one  of  the  apartments  is  a 
trunk  containing  his  deceased  mother's  dresses,  carefully  folded  up  and 
preserved.  His  fastidiousness,  bordering  upon  effeminacy,  is  visible  in 
his  gait  and  manner,  in  his  handsome  features  and  small,  well-dressed 
person,  especially  when  he  walks  abroad  and  sinks  the  author  and  hard 
student  in  'the  gentleman  who  sometimes  writes  for  his  amusement.' 
He  writes  always  with  a  crow-quill,  speaks  slowly  and  sententiously,  and 
shuns  the  crew  of  dissonant  college  revellers,  who  call  him  ■  a  prig,'  and 
seek  to  annoy  him.  Long  mornings  of  study,  and  nights  feverish  from 
ill-health,  are  spent  in  those  chambers;  he  is  often  listless  and  in  low 
spirits;  yet  his  natural  temper  is  not  desponding,  and  he  delights  in 
employment.  He  has  always  something  to  learn  or  to  communicate; 
some  sally  of  humor  or  quiet  stroke  of  satire  for  his  friends  and  corre- 
spondents; some  note  on  natural  history  to  enter  in  his  journal;  some 
passage  of  Plato  to  unfold  and  illustrate;  some  golden  thought  of  classic 
inspiration  to  inlay  on  his  page;  some  bold  image  to  tone  down;  some 
verse  to  retouch  and  harmonize.  His  life  is,  on  the  whole,  innocent  and 
happy,  and  a  feeling  of  thankfulness  to  the  Great  Giver  is  breathed  over 
all." 


GRAY'S  ELEGY.  105 


The  Poem. 


"It  may  at  once  be  said  that  it  was  begun  at  Stoke  in  October  or 
November,  1742,  continued  at  Stoke  immediately  after  the  funeral  of 
Gray's  aunt,  Miss  Mary  Antrobus,  in  November,  1749,  and  finished  at 
Cambridge  in  June,  1750.  It  may  be  here  remarked  as  a  very  singular 
fact  that  the  death  of  a  valued  friend  seems  to  have  been  the  stimulus  of 
greatest  efficacy  in  rousing  Gray  to  the  composition  of  poetry,  and  did, 
in  fact,  excite  him  to  the  completion  of  most  of  his  important  poems.  He 
was  a  man  who  had  a  very  slender  hold  on  life  himself,  who  walked  habit- 
ually in  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow  of  Death,  and  whose  periods  of  greatest 
vitality  were  those  in  which  bereavement  proved  to  him  that,  melancholy 
as  he  was,  even  he  had  something  to  lose  and  to  regret."  —  Edmund 
Gosse. 

"  Had  Gray  written  nothing  but  his  Elegy,  high  as  he  stands,  I  am  not 
sure  that  he  would  not  stand  higher;  it  is  the  corner-stone  of  his  glory." 
—  Lord  Byron. 

1.  curfew.  Fr.  couvre-feu;  couvrir,  to  cover,  and  feu,  fire.  The 
custom  in  England  of  ringing  a  bell  at  nightfall  dates  from  a  very  early 
period,  although  it  was  probably  neither  general  nor  obligatory  until  the 
time  of  William  the  Conqueror.  Peshall,  in  his  History  of  Oxford,  says : 
"  The  custom  of  ringing  the  bell  at  Carfax  every  night  at  eight  o'clock  was 
by  order  of  King  Alfred,  the  restorer  of  our  University,  who  ordained  that 
all  persons  at  the  ringing  of  that  bell  should  cover  up  their  fires  and  go 
to  bed;  which  Custom  is  observed  to  this  day."     See  Milton,  //  Penseroso, 

73:  — 

"  Oft  on  a  plat  of  rising  ground, 
I  hear  the  far-off  curfew  sound, 
Over  some  wide-water'd  shore, 
Swinging  low  with  sullen  roar." 

Compare  with  Dante,  Purgatorio,  8 :  — 

"  If  he  doth  hear  from  far  away  a  bell 
That  seemeth  to  deplore  the  dying  day." 

And  Milton,  Comus,  434 :  — 

"  Stubborn  unlaid  ghost 
That  breaks  his  chains  at  curfew  time." 

parting.      Departing.      Compare  with    Milton,  Hymn   on  the  Nativity, 
185:- 

"  The  parting  Genius  is  with  sighing  sent." 


106  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

Also  with  Scott,  Marmion,  iii.  13:  — 

"  Seemed  in  mine  ear  a  death-peal  rung, 
Such  as  in  nunneries  they  toll 
For  some  departing  sister's  soul." 

2.  wind.  This  is  generally  printed  winds,  but  it  was  not  so  written 
by  Gray.  —  ploughman.  Compare  with  Burns,  Cotter's  Saturday  Night, 
14:  — 

'*  The  toil-worn  Cotter  frae  his  labor  goes." 

Also  with  Pope,  Pastorals,  iii. :  — 

"  While  laboring  oxen  spent  with  toil  and  heat, 
In  their  loose  traces  from  the  fields  retreat : 
While  curling  smoke  from  village-tops  are  seen, 
And  fleet  shades  glide  o'er  the  dusky  green." 

3.  This  line  in  prose  would  read:  "And  a  solemn  stillness  holds  all 
the  air." 

4.  beetle.     Compare  Shakespeare,  Macbeth,  iii.  2 :  — 

"  Ere  to  black  Hecate's  summons 
The  shard-borne  beetle,  with  his  drowsy  hums, 
Hath  rung  night's  yawning  peal." 

See  Lycidas,  28. 

5.  reign.     Domain :  — 

"  Apollo,  Pallas,  Jove,  and  Mars 
Held  undisturbed  their  ancient  reign." 

Alfred  Dommet,  Christmas  Hymn. 

6.  the  turf.  Compare  this,  and  indeed  the  entire  stanza,  with  In 
Memoriam,  x. 

7.  rude.  Uncultured.  Milton  would  probably  say  uncouth;  as, 
"uncouth  swain,"  Lycidas,  186. 

8.  incense-breathing  morn.     See  Milton,  Arcades,  156:  — 

"  And  early,  ere  the  odorous  breath  of  morn 
Awakes  the  slumbering  leaves." 

Also  Paradise  Lost,  iv.  641 :  — 

"  Sweet  is  the  breath  of  morn,  her  rising  sweet." 

9.  clarion.  A  shrill  sounding  trumpet.  Compare  with  Paradise 
Lost,  vii.  443  :  — 

"  The  crested  cock  whose  clarion  sounds 
The  silent  hours." 


GRAY'S  ELEGY.  107 

Also  Hamlet,  i.  I :  — 

"  The  cock  that  is  the  trumpet  to  the  morn." 

And  Kyd's  England's  Parnassus  :  — 

"  The  cheerful  cock,  the  sad  night's  trumpeter, 
Waiting  upon  the  rising  of  the  sun." 

io.    lowly  bed.     There  is  no  figurative  meaning  in  these  words. 

ii.  ply  her  evening  care.  "This  is  probably  the  kind  of  phrase 
which  led  Wordsworth  to  pronounce  the  language  of  the  Elegy  unintelligi- 
ble.    Compare  his  own  — 

"  ■  And  she  I  cherished  turned  her  wheel 
Beside  an  English  fire '"  —  Hales. 

12.  Compare  with  Burns,  Cotter's  Saturday  Night y  21 :  — 

"  Th*  expectant  wee  things  toddlin',  stacher  thro* 
To  meet  their  dad,  wi'  flichterin  noise  an'  glee." 

or  climb  his  knees.     Compare  with  the  same,  25  :  — 

"  The  lisping  infant  prattling  on  his  knee, 
Does  a'  his  weary  carking  cares  beguile." 

Also  with  Thomson,  Liberty,  iii.  171  :  — 

"  His  little  children  climbing  for  a  kiss." 

13.  glebe.     Turf.     From  Lat.  gleba,  clod  :  — 

"  'Tis  mine  to  tame  the  stubborn  glebe." —  Gay, 

14.  afield.     See  Lycidas,  27. 

15.  sturdy  stroke.     See  The  Shepheards  Calender,  February  :  — 

"  But  to  the  roote  bent  his  sturdy  stroake, 
And  made  many  wounds  in  the  wast  Oak." 

16.  Burns  uses  this  stanza  as  an  introduction  to  his  Cotter's  Saturday 
Night. 

17.  Compare  with  this  stanza  from  the  Monody  on  Queen  Caroline 
(1737),  written  by  Gray's  friend,  Richard  West :  — 

'*  Ah  me !  what  boots  us  all  our  boasted  power, 
Our  golden  treasure,  and  our  purple  state ; 
They  cannot  ward  the  inevitable  hour, 
Nor  stay  the  fearful  violence  of  fate." 

Lossing  relates  the  following  story  of  General  Wolfe  on  the  eve  of  the 
battle  of  Quebec  (1759):  "At  past  midnight,  when   the  heavens  were 


108  THE  BOOK  OF  ELEGIES. 

hung  with  black  clouds,  and  the  boats  were  floating  silently  back  with  the 
tide  to  the  intended  landing-place  at  the  chosen  ascent  to  the  Plains  of 
Abraham,  he  repeated  in  a  low  tone  to  the  officers  around  him  this  touch- 
ing stanza  of  Gray's  Elegy.  *  Now,  gentlemen,'  said  Wolfe, '  I  would  rather 
be  the  author  of  that  poem  than  the  possessor  of  the  glory  of  beating  the 
French  to-morrow.'  He  fell  the  next  day,  and  expired  just  as  the  shouts 
of  victory  of  the  English  fell  upon  his  almost  unconscious  ears."  —  awaits. 
In  prose  the  first  sentence  would  read,  "  The  inevitable  hour  awaits  alike 
the  boast  of  heraldry,  the  pomp  of  power,  and  all  that  beauty  or  wealth 
e'er  gave." 

18.  aisle.  Fr.  aile;  originally  written  so  in  English,  and  meaning,  as 
here,  a  little  wing,  or  lateral  division  of  the  church.  Now  used  to  desig- 
nate the  alley,  or  passage-way,  into  which  the  pews  open.  Compare  this 
line  with  Milton,  //  Penseroso,  155  :  — 

"  But  let  my  due  feet  never  fail 
To  walk  the  studious  cloister's  pale, 
And  love  the  high  embowed  roof, 
With  antique  pillars  massy  proof." 

fretted.  Ornamented  with  frets  or  interlacing  bands.  Compare  with 
Shakespeare,  Hamlet,  ii.  2 :  — 

"  This  majestical  roof  fretted  with  golden  fire." 

19.  pealing  anthem.     See  II  Penseroso,  161 :  — 

"  There  let  the  pealing  organ  blow 
To  the  full-voiced  quire  below, 
In  service  high,  and  anthem  clear." 

20.  storied  urn.     See  II  Penseroso,  159:  — 

"  And  storied  windows  richly  dight." 

animated  bust.     Life-like  bust,  or  monument. 

21.  provoke.  From  Lat.  pro  and  voco,  to  call  forth,  and  here  used  in 
its  original  meaning. 

22.  Compare  with  Cowper,  Boadicea,  33 :  — 

"  Such  the  bard's  prophetic  words, 

Pregnant  with  celestial  fire, 

Bending  as  he  swept  the  chords 

Of  his  sweet  but  awful  lyre." 

23*  page  .  .  .  unroll.  Ancient  books  were  in  the  form  of  rolls. 
Hence  we  have  volume,  from  Lat.  volvere,  to  roll.  —  rich  with  the  spoils 
of  time.     Compare  with  Sir  Thomas  Browne,  Religio  Medici,  i.  13  :  — 


GRAY'S  ELEGY.  109 

"  And  then  at  last,  when  homeward  I  shall  drive 
Rich  with  the  spoils  of  nature,"  etc. 

24.  rage.     Enthusiasm,  inspiration.     See  Collins,  The  Passions,  1 10 :  — 

"  Thy  humblest  reed  could  more  prevail, 
Had  more  of  strength,  diviner  rage, 
Than  all  which  charms  this  Laggard  age." 

25.  Compare  these  two  lines  with  the  following  passage  in  Bishop 
Hall's  Contemplations,  written  more  than  a  hundred  years  earlier :  "  There 
is  many  a  rich  stone  laid  up  in  the  bowells  of  the  earth,  many  a  fair  pearle 
in  the  bosom  of  the  sea,  that  never  was  seene  nor  never  shall  bee." 

26.  Compare  these  two  lines  with  Waller  (1650)  :  — 

"  Go,  lovely  rose, . . . 
Tell  her  that's  young 
And  shuns  to  have  her  graces  spied, 
That  hadst  thou  sprung 
In  deserts,  where  no  men  abide, 
Thou  must  have  uncommended  died." 

Also  with  Pope,  Rape  of  the  Locke,  iv.  158  :  — 

"  There  kept  my  charms  conceal'd  from  every  eye, 
Like  roses,  that  in  deserts  bloom  and  die." 

Mitford  compares  with  Chamberlayne's  Pharronida  (1659)  :  — 

"  Like  beauteous  flowers  which  vainly  waste  their  scent 
Of  odours  in  unhaunted  deserts." 

27.  This  stanza  was  at  first  written  thus :  — 

"  Some  Village  Cato  who  with  dauntless  Breast 
The  little  Tyrant  of  his  Fields  withstood ; 
Some  mute  inglorious  Tully  here  may  rest ; 
Some  Caesar  guiltless  of  his  Country's  Blood." 

For  the  proper  names,  Hampden,  Milton,  Cromwell,  consult  some  English 
history  of  the  seventeenth  century. 

28.  Hales  says :  "  The  great  age  of  Parliamentary  oratory  was  just 
dawning  when  the  Elegy  was  published.  The  elder  Pitt  was  already 
famous  for  his  eloquence." 

29.  Compare  with  the  following  by  Tickell :  — 

"  To  scatter  blessings  o'er  the  British  land," 
or  with  this  by  Mrs.  Behn :  — 

"  Is  scattering  plenty  over  all  the  land." 


110  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

30.  Reference  is  here  made  to  the  fawning  adulation  for  great  men 
common  at  that  time.  In  Gray's  first  copy  of  the  poem,  the  remaining 
stanzas  were  as  follows :  — 

"  The  thoughtless  World  to  Majesty  may  bow 
Exalt  the  brave,  &  idolize  Success 
But  more  to  Innocence  their  Safety  owe 
Than  Power  &  Genius  e'er  conspir'd  to  bless 

"  And  thou,  who  mindful  of  the  unhonour'd  Dead 
Dost  in  these  Notes  their  artless  Tale  relate 
By  Night  &  lonely  Contemplation  led 
To  linger  in  the  gloomy  Walks  of  Fate 

"  Hark  how  the  sacred  Calm,  that  broods  around 
Bids  ev'ry  fierce  tumultuous  Passion  cease 
In  still  small  Accents  whisp'ring  from  the  Ground 
A  grateful  Earnest  of  eternal  Peace 

"  No  more  with  Reason  &  thyself  at  Strife 
Give  anxious  Cares  &  endless  Wishes  room 
But  thro  the  cool  sequester'd  Vale  of  Life 
Pursue  the  silent  Tenour  of  thy  Doom." 

It  will  be  noticed  that  the  second  of  these  stanzas,  with  some  revisions,  is 
retained  in  the  poem  (see  the  sixth  stanza,  below).  Also  that  the  last 
two  lines  of  the  fourth  (altered)  appear  at  the  end  of  the  first  stanza,  below. 

31.  madding.  Exciting,  disturbed,  raging.  Compare  with  Johnson, 
Vanity  of  Human  Wishes,  39 :  — 

"  Let  hist'ry  tell  where  rival  kings  command, 
And  dubious  title  shakes  the  madded  land." 

And  with  Drummond,  Praise  of  a  Solitary  Life  :  — 

"  Thrice  happy  he  who  by  some  shady  grove 
Far  from  the  clamorous  world  doth  live  his  own." 

32.  tenor  of  their  way.  So  Beilby  Porteus  (1 731-1808),  in  his  poem 
on  Death,  says :  — 

"The  venerable  patriarch  guileless  held 
The  tenor  of  his  way." 

33.  uncouth  rhymes.  Untaught,  unknown,  unlearned.  Milton  has 
"uncouth  cell,"  "uncouth  swain,"  etc. 

34.  Compare  with  Lycidas,  19-22. 
35-   elegy.     Hales  says:  "This  was  an  age  much  given  to  elaborat< 

epitaphs  and  elegies.  Gray  himself  had  contributed  to  this  funeral  litera- 
ture.    See  also  Pope's  works,  Goldsmith's,  etc.,  and  the  walls  and  monu 


i 


GRAY'S  ELEGY.  Ill 

ments  of  Westminster  Abbey,  passim.    This  style  of  writing  still  survives 
in  country  places;   but  happily  even  there  is  growing  rarer." 

36.  "At  the  first  glance  it  might  seem  that  to  dumb  Forgetfulness  a 
prey  was  in  apposition  to  who,  and  the  meaning  was,  '  Who  that  now  lies 
forgotten,'  etc.;  in  which  case  the  second  line  of  the  stanza  must  be  closely 
connected  with  the  fourth;  for  the  question  of  the  passage  is  not  *  Who 
ever  died?'  but  'Who  ever  died  without  wishing  to  be  remembered?' 
But  in  this  way  of  interpreting  this  difficult  stanza  (i.)  there  is  compara- 
tively little  force  in  the  appositional  phrase,  and  (ii.)  there  is  a  certain 
awkwardness  in  deferring  so  long  the  clause  (virtually  adverbial  though 
apparently  co-ordinate)  in  which,  as  has  just  been  noticed,  the  point  of  the 
question  really  lies.  Perhaps  therefore  it  is  better  to  take  the  phrase  to 
dumb  Forgetfulness  a  prey  as  in  fact  the  completion  of  the  predicate 
resigned,  and  interpret  thus :  '  Who  ever  resigned  this  life  of  his  with  all 
its  pleasures  and  all  its  pains  to  be  utterly  ignored  and  forgotten?  =  who 
ever,  when  resigning  it,  reconciled  himself  to  its  being  forgotten?'  In  this 
case  the  second  half  of  the  stanza  echoes  the  thought  of  the  first  half."  — 
Hales. 

37.  See  note  44,  page  70.    Compare  with  the  quotations  there  given. 

38.  So  Chaucer  in  The  R eves  Tale;  — 

"  Yet  in  our  ashen  cold  is  fire  yreken." 
And  Tennyson  in  Maud,  i.  22 :  — 

"  She  is  coming,  my  own,  my  sweet, 

Were  it  ever  so  weary  a  tread 
My  heart  would  hear  her  and  beat, 

Were  it  earth  in  an  earthy  bed ; 
My  dust  would  hear  her  and  beat, 

Had  I  lain  for  a  century  dead, 
Would  start  and  tremble  under  her  feet, 

And  blossom  in  purple  and  red." 

39.  peep  of  dawn.  Compare  with  "  opening  eyelids  of  the  dawn," 
in  Lycidas,  26,  and  see  note  13,  page  88.     See  also  Comus,  138:  — 

"  Ere  the  blabbing  eastern  scout, 
The  nice  morn,  on  the  Indian  steep, 
From  her  cabin'd  loop-hole  peep." 

And  Herrick,  To  Music,  etc. :  — 

"  Or  like  those  maiden  showers 

Which,  by  the  peep  of  day,  do  strew 
A  baptism  o'er  the  flowers." 

40.  upland  lawn.  See  Lycidas,  25.  Compare  also  with  Milton 
L Allegro,  92 :  — 


112  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

"  Sometime  with  sure  delight 
The  upland  hamlets  will  invite." 

Milton  also  speaks  of  "russet  lawns."  A  lawn  was  a  pasture  or  grassy 
field.  An  upland  lawn  was  probably  such  a  field  on  the  hill-slopes, 
although  Hales  thinks  that  it  is  used  with  reference  simply  to  the  country 
in  opposition  to  towns,  as  the  Old  English  expression  "  uplondysche 
men,"  was  used  to  designate  countrymen. 

41.  This  stanza,  as  at  first  written,  read  thus :  — 

"  Him  have  we  seen  the  greenwood  side  along, 
While  o'er  the  heath  we  hied,  our  labor  done, 
Oft  as  the  wood-lark  piped  her  farewell  song, 
With  wistful  eyes  pursue  the  setting  sun." 

Compare  it  as  it  now  reads  with  Shakespeare,  As  You  Like  It,  ii.  1 :  — 

"  As  he  lay  along 
Under  an  oak  whose  antique  root  peeps  out 
Upon  the  brook  that  brawls  along  this  road." 

Compare  the  first  two  lines  with  Spenser,  Ruins  of  Rome,  504:  — 

"  A  great  oke  drie  and  dead, 
Whose  foote  in  ground  hath  left  but  feeble  holde, 
But  halfe  disbowel'd  lies  above  the  ground, 
Shewing  her  wreathed  rootes  and  naked  armes." 

42.  due.  Proper.  Compare  with  Milton,  Lycidas,  7,  "  season  due."  — 
church-way  path.  See  Shakespeare,  Midsummer  Night's  Dream,  v. 
2,9:  — 

"  Now  it  is  the  time  of  night, 

That  the  graves  all  gaping  wide, 
Every  one  lets  forth  his  sprite, 
In  the  church-way  paths  to  glide." 

43.  In  the  original  manuscript  these  lines  follow  this  stanza:  — 

"  There  scatter'd  oft,  the  earliest  of  the  year, 

By  hands  unseen  are  show'rs  of  violets  found : 
The  redbreast  loves  to  build  and  warble  there, 
And  little  footsteps  lightly  print  the  ground." 

44.  lap.     See  Milton,  Paradise  Lost,  ix.  777 :  — 

"  How  glad  would  lay  me  down 
As  in  my  mother's  lap." 

Also  the  same,  xi.  535  :  — 

*  So  may'st  thou  live,  till  like  ripe  fruit  thou  drop 
Into  thy  mother's  lap." 


ADONAIS 

AN  ELEGY  ON   THE  DEATH  OF  JOHN  KEATS 
Author  of "  Endymion"  "Hyperion"  etc. 

'Actttjp  irplv  pkv  €\a/>t7res  £vl  {uolvlp  ewos 

NOv  5£  0avwv,  Xd/nreis  $<nr€pos  iv  (pdlfievois. — Plato 

By  Percy  Bysshe  Shelley 


1821 


John  Keats  died  at  Rome,  of  a  consumption,  in  his  twenty-fourth  year, 
on  the  27th  of  December,  1820,  and  was  buried  in  the  romantic  and 
lonely  cemetery  of  the  Protestants  in  that  city,  under  the  pyramid  which 
is  the  tomb  of  Cestius,  and  the  massy  walls  and  towers,  now  mouldering 
and  desolate,  which  formed  the  circuit  of  ancient  Rome.  The  cemetery 
is  an  open  space  among  the  ruins,  covered  in  winter  with  violets  and 
daisies.  It  might  make  one  in  love  with  death  to  think  that  one  should 
be  buried  in  so  sweet  a  place. 

The  genius  of  the  lamented  person  to  whose  memory  I  have  dedicated 
these  unworthy  verses  was  not  less  delicate  and  fragile  than  it  was 
beautiful ;  and  where  canker-worms  abound  what  wonder  if  its  young 
flower  was  blighted  in  the  bud?  The  savage  criticism  on  his  Endy- 
mion,  which  appeared  in  the  Quarterly  Review,  produced  the  most  vio- 
lent effect  on  his  susceptible  mind.  The  agitation  thus  originated  ended 
in  the  rupture  of  a  blood-vessel  in  the  lungs ;  a  rapid  consumption 
ensued ;  and  the  succeeding  acknowledgments,  from  more  candid  critics, 
of  the  true  greatness  of  his  powers,  were  ineffectual  to  heal  the  wound 
thus  wantonly  inflicted. 

The  circumstances  of  the  closing  scene  of  poor  Keats' s  life  were  not 
made  known  to  me  until  the  Elegy  was  ready  for  the  press.  I  am 
given  to  understand  that  the  wound  which  his  sensitive  spirit  had 
received  from  the  criticism  of  Endymion  was  exasperated  by  the  bit- 
ter sense  of  unrequited  benefits.  The  poor  fellow  seems  to  have  been 
hooted  from  the  stage  of  life,  no  less  by  those  on  whom  he  had  wasted 
the  promise  of  his  genius,  than  those  on  whom  he  had  lavished  his  for- 
tune and  his  care.  —  From  Shelley's  Preface. 


^toonats* 


<Wo 


I  weep  for  Adonais  —  he  is  dead  ! 
Oh,  weep  for  Adonais,  though  our  tears 
Thaw  not  the  frost  which  binds  so  dear  a  head ! 
And  thou,  sad  Hour  selected  from  all  years 
To  mourn  our  loss,  rouse  thy  obscure  compeers, 
And  teach  them  thine  own  sorrow !  Say  :  "  With  me 
Died  Adonais ;  till  the  Future  dares 
Forget  the  Past,  his  fate  and  fame  shall  be 
An  echo  and  a  light  unto  eternity !  " 

ii. 

Where  wert  thou,  mighty  Mother,  when  he  lay, 
When  thy  son  lay,  pierced  by  the  shaft  which  flies 
In  darkness  ?  where  was  lorn  Urania 
When  Adonais  died  ?     With  veiled  eyes 
'Mid  listening  Echoes  in  her  paradise 
She  sate,  while  one,  with  soft  enamoured  breath, 
Rekindled  all  the  fading  melodies 
With  which,  like  flowers  that  mock  the  corse  beneath, 
He  had  adorned  and  hid  the  coming  bulk  of  Death. 

"5 


116  THE  BOOK  OF  ELEGIES. 

III. 

Oh,  weep  for  Adonais  —  he  is  dead  ! 
Wake,  melancholy  Mother,  wake  and  weep !  — 
Yet  wherefore  ?     Quench  within  their  burning  bed 
Thy  fiery  tears,  and  let  thy  loud  heart  keep, 
Like  his,  a  mute  and  uncomplaining  sleep ; 
For  he  is  gone  where  all  things  wise  and  fair 
Descend  :  —  oh,  dream  not  that  the  amorous  Deep 
Will  yet  restore  him  to  the  vital  air ; 
Death   feeds   on   his   mute   voice,  and  laughs   at  our 
despair. 

IV. 

Most  musical  of  mourners,  weep  again ! 
Lament  anew,  Urania  !  —  he  died 
Who  was  the  sire  of  an  immortal  strain, 
Blind,  old,  and  lonely,  when  his  country's  pride 
The  priest,  the  slave,  and  the  liberticide, 
Trampled  and  mocked  with  many  a  loathed  rite 
Of  lust  and  blood ;  he  went,  unterrified, 
Into  the  gulf  of  death.     But  his  clear  sprite 
Yet  reigns   o'er   earth,  the  third   among  the  sons  of 
light. 


Most  musical  of  mourners,  weep  anew ! 
Not  all  to  that  bright  station  dared  to  climb : 
And  happier  they  their  happiness  who  knew, 
Whose  tapers  yet  burn  through  that  night  of  time 
In  which  suns  perished.     Others  more  sublime, 
Struck  by  the  envious  wrath  of  man  or  God, 
Have  sunk,  extinct  in  their  refulgent  prime ; 


ADONAIS.  117 

And  some  yet  live,  treading  the  thorny  road, 
Which  leads,  through  toil  and  hate,  to  Fame's  serene 
abode. 

VI. 

But  now,  thy  youngest,  dearest  one,  has  perished, 
The  nursling  of  thy  widowhood,  who  grew, 
Like  a  pale  flower  by  some  sad  maiden  cherished, 
And  fed  with  true  love  tears  instead  of  dew. 
Most  musical  of  mourners,  weep  anew ! 
Thy  extreme  hope,  the  loveliest  and  the  last, 
The  bloom  whose  petals,  nipped  before  they  blew, 
Died  on  the  promise  of  the  fruit,  is  waste ; 
The  broken  lily  lies  —  the  storm  is  overpast. 

VII. 

To  that  high  Capital,  where  kingly  Death 
Keeps  his  pale  court  in  beauty  and  decay, 
He  came ;  and  bought,  with  price  of  purest  breath,    . 
A  grave  among  the  eternal.  —  Come  away ! 
Haste,  while  the  vault  of  blue  Italian  day 
Is  yet  his  fitting  charnel-roof !  while  still 
He  lies,  as  if  in  dewy  sleep  he  lay. 
Awake  him  not !  surely  he  takes  his  fill 
Of  deep  and  liquid  rest,  forgetful  of  all  ill. 

VIII. 

He  will  wake  no  more,  oh,  never  more  ! 
Within  the  twilight  chamber  spreads  apace 
The  shadow  of  white  Death,  and  at  the  door 
Invisible  Corruption  waits  to  trace 
His  extreme  way  to  her  dim  dwelling-place ; 


118      .  THE   BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

The  eternal  Hunger  sits,  but  pity  and  awe 
Soothe  her  pale  rage,  nor  dares  she  to  deface 
So  fair  a  prey,  till  darkness  and  the  law 
Of  change  shall  o'er  his  sleep  the  mortal  curtain  draw. 

IX. 

Oh,  weep  for  Adonais  !  —  The  quick  Dreams, 

The  passion-winged  ministers  of  thought, 

Who  were  his  flocks,  whom  near  the  living  streams 

Of  his  young  spirit  he  fed,  and  whom  he  taught 

The  love  which  was  its  music,  wander  not,  — 

Wander  no  more  from  kindling  brain  to  brain, 

But  droop  there  whence  they  sprung;   and  mourn 

their  lot 
Round  the  cold  heart,  where,  after  their  sweet  pain, 
They  ne'er  will  gather  strength  or  find  a  home  again. 

x. 

And  one  with  trembling  hands  clasps  his  cold  head, 
And  fans  him  with  her  moonlight  wings,  and  cries, 
"  Our  love,  our  hope,  our  sorrow,  is  not  dead ; 
See,  on  the  silken  fringe  of  his  faint  eyes, 
Like  dew  upon  a  sleeping  flower,  there  lies 
A  tear  some  Dream  has  loosened  from  his  brain." 
Lost  Angel  of  a  ruined  Paradise  ! 
She  knew  not  'twas  her  own,  —  as  with  no  stain 
She  faded,  like  a  cloud  which  had  outwept  its  rain. 

XI. 

One  from  a  lucid  urn  of  starry  dew 

Washed  his  light  limbs  as  if  embalming  them ; 


ADONAIS.  119 

Another  dipt  her  profuse  locks,  and  threw 
The  wreath  upon  him,  like  an  anadem 
Which  frozen  tears  instead  of  pearls  begem ; 
Another  in  her  wilful  grief  would  break 
Her  bow  and  winged  reeds,  as  if  to  stem 
A  greater  loss  with  one  which  was  more  weak, 
And  dull  the  barbed  fire  against  his  frozen  cheek. 


XII. 

Another  Splendour  on  his  mouth  alit, 
That  mouth  whence  it  was  wont  to  draw  the  breath 
Which  gave  it  strength  to  pierce  the  guarded  wit, 
And  pass  into  the  panting  heart  beneath 
With  lightning  and  with  music :  the  damp  death 
Quenched  its  caress  upon  his  icy  lips ; 
And,  as  a  dying  meteor  stains  a  wreath 
Of  moonlight  vapour,  which  the  cold  night  clips, 
It  flushed  through  his  pale  limbs,  and   passed   to  its 
eclipse. 

XIII. 

«    And  others  came,  —  Desires  and  Adorations, 
Winged  Persuasions,  and  veiled  Destinies, 
Splendours,    and    Glooms,  and    glimmering   incarna- 
tions 
Of  Hopes  and  Fears,  and  twilight  Phantasies ; 
And  Sorrow,  with  her  family  of  Sighs, 
And  Pleasure,  blind  with  tears,  led  by  the  gleam 
Of  her  own  dying  smile  instead  of  eyes, 
Came  in  slow  pomp ;  —  the  moving  pomp  might  seem 

Like  pageantry  of  mist  on  an  autumnal  stream. 


120  THE  BOOK  OF  ELEGIES. 

XIV. 

All  he  had  loved,  and  moulded  into  thought 
From  shape  and  hue  and  odour  and  sweet  sound, 
Lamented  Adonais.     Morning  sought 
Her  eastern  watch-tower,  and  her  hair  unbound, 
Wet  with  the  tears  which  should  adorn  the  ground, 
Dimmed  the  aerial  eyes  that  kindle  day ; 
Afar  the  melancholy  Thunder  moaned, 
Pale  Ocean  in  unquiet  slumber  lay, 
And  the  wild  Winds  flew  round,  sobbing  in  their  dismay. 

xv. 

Lost  Echo  sits  among  the  voiceless  mountains, 
And  feeds  her  grief  with  his  remembered  lay, 
And  will  no  more  reply  to  winds  or  fountains, 
Or  amorous  birds  perched  on  the  young  green  -spray, 
Or  herdsman's  horn,  or  bell  at  closing  day, 
Since  she  can  mimic  not  his  lips,  more  dear 
Than  those  for  whose  disdain  she  pined  away 
Into  a  shadow  of  all  sounds :  —  a  drear 
Murmur,  between  their  songs,  is  all  the  woodmen  hear. 

XVI. 

Grief  made  the  young  Spring  wild,  and  she  threw  down 
Her  kindling  buds,  as  if  she  Autumn  were, 
Or  they  dead  leaves ;  since  her  delight  is  flown, 
For  whom  should  she  have  waked  the  sullen  Year  ? 
To  Phoebus  was  not  Hyacinth  so  dear, 
Nor  to  himself  Narcissus,  as  to  both 
Thou,  Adonais ;  wan  they  stand  and  sere 
Amid  the  faint  companions  of  their  youth, 
With  dew  all  turned  to  tears,  —  odour,  to  sighing  ruth, 


ADONAIS.  121 

XVII. 

Thy  spirit's  sister,  the  lorn  nightingale, 
Mourns  not  her  mate  with  such  melodious  pain ; 
Not  so  the  eagle,  who  like  thee  could  scale 
Heaven,  and  could  nourish  in  the  sun's  domain 
Her  mighty  young  with  morning,  doth  complain, 
Soaring  and  screaming  round  her  empty  nest, 
As  Albion  wails  for  thee :  the  curse  of  Cain 
Light  on  his  head  who  pierced  thy  innocent  breast, 
And  scared  the  angel  soul  that  was  its  earthly  guest ! 

XVIII. 

Ah  woe  is  me  !  Winter  is  come  and  gone, 
But  grief  returns  with  the  revolving  year ; 
The  airs  and  streams  renew  their  joyous  tone ; 
The  ants,  the  bees,  the  swallows,  reappear. 
Fresh  leaves  and  flowers  deck  the  dead  Seasons'  bier ; 
The  amorous  birds  now  pair  in  every  brake, 
And  build  their  mossy  homes  in  field  and  brere ; 
And  the  green  lizard  and  the  golden  snake, 
Like  unimprisoned  flames,  out  of  their  trance  awake. 

XIX. 

Through  wood  and  stream  and  field  and  hill  and  ocean, 
A  quickening  life  from  the  Earth's  heart  has  burst, 
As  it  has  ever  done,  with  change  and  motion, 
From  the  great  morning  of  the  world  when  first 
God  dawned  on  Chaos.     In  its  stream  immersed, 
The  lamps  of  heaven  flash  with  a  softer  light ; 
All  baser  things  pant  with  life's  sacred  thirst, 
Diffuse  themselves,  and  spend  in  love's  delight, 
The  beauty  and  the  joy  of  their  renewed  might. 


122  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

XX. 

The  leprous  corpse  touched  by  this  spirit  tender, 
Exhales  itself  in  flowers  of  gentle  breath ; 
Like  incarnations  of  the  stars,  when  splendour 
Is  changed  to  fragrance,  they  illumine  death, 
And  mock  the  merry  worm  that  wakes  beneath. 
Nought  we  know  dies  :  shall  that  alone  which  knows 
Be  as  a  sword  consumed  before  the  sheath 
By  sightless  lightning  ?     Th'  intense  atom  glows 
A  moment,  then  is  quenched  in  a  most  cold  repose. 

XXI. 

Alas !  that  all  we  loved  of  him  should  be, 
But  for  our  grief,  as  if  it  had  not  been, 
And  grief  itself  be  mortal !  Woe  is  me ! 
Whence  are  we,  and  why  are  we  ?  of  what  scene 
The  actors  or  spectators  ?  Great  and  mean 
Meet  massed  in  death,  who  lends  what  life  must  borrow. 
As  long  as  skies  are  blue  and  fields  are  green, 
Evening  must  usher  night,  night  urge  the  morrow, 
Month  follow  month  with  woe,  and  year  wake  year  to 
sorrow. 

XXII. 

He  will  awake  no  more,  oh  never  more ! 
"Wake  thou,"  cried  Misery,  "childless  Mother,  rise 
Out  of  thy  sleep,  and  slake  in  thy  heart's  core 
A  wound  more  fierce  than  his,  with  tears  and  sighs." 
And  all  the  Dreams  that  watched  Urania's  eyes, 
And  all  the  Echoes  whom  their  sister's  song 
Had  held  in  holy  silence,  cried,  "  Arise  !  " 
Swift  as  a  Thought  by  the  snake  Memory  stung, 
From  her  ambrosial  rest  the  fading  Splendour  sprung. 


ADONAIS.  123 


XXIII. 


She  rose  like  an  autumnal  Night,  that  springs 
Out  of  the  east,  and  follows  wild  and  drear 
The  golden  Day,  which,  on  eternal  wings, 
Even  as  a  ghost  abandoning  a  bier, 
Had  left  the  Earth  a  corpse.     Sorrow  and  fear 
So  struck,  so  roused,  so  rapt,  Urania  ; 
So  saddened  round  her  like  an  atmosphere 
Of  stormy  mist ;  so  swept  her  on  her  way, 
Even  to  the  mournful  place  where  Adonais  lay. 

XXIV. 

Out  of  her  secret  Paradise  she  sped, 

Through  camps  and  cities  rough  with  stone,  and  steel 

And  human  hearts,  which  to  her  aery  tread 

Yielding  not,  wounded  the  invisible 

Palms  of  her  tender  feet  where'er  they  fell ; 

And  barbed  tongues,  and  thoughts  more  sharp  than 

they, 
Rent  the  soft  form  they  never  could  repel, 
Whose  sacred  blood,  like  the  young  tears  of  May, 
Paved  with  eternal  flowers  that  undeserving  way. 

xxv. 

In  the  death-chamber  for  a  moment  Death, 
Shamed  by  the  presence  of  that  living  Might, 
Blushed  to  annihilation,  and  the  breath 
Revisited  those  lips,  and  life's  pale  light 
Flashed  through  those  limbs  so  late  her  dear  delight. 
"  Leave  me  not  wild  and  drear  and  comfortless, 
As  silent  lightning  leaves  the  starless  night ! 


124  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

Leave  me  not !  "  cried  Urania.     Her  distress 
Roused  Death  :    Death  rose  and  smiled,  and  met  her 
vain  caress. 

XXVI. 

"  Stay  yet  a  while  !  speak  to  me  once  again  ! 
Kiss  me,  so  long  but  as  a  kiss  may  live ! 
And  in  my  heartless  breast  and  burning  brain, 
That  word,  that  kiss  shall  all  thoughts  else  survive, 
With  food  of  saddest  memory  kept  alive, 
Now  thou  art  dead,  as  if  it  were  a  part 
Of  thee,  my  Adonais  !  I  would  give 
All  that  I  am,  to  be  as  thou  now  art :  — 
But  I  am  chained  to  Time,  and  cannot  thence  depart ! 

XXVII. 

"  Oh,  gentle  child,  beautiful  as  thou  wert, 
Why  didst  thou  leave  the  trodden  paths  of  men 
Too  soon,  and  with  weak  hands  though  mighty  heart, 
Dare  the  unpastured  dragon  in  his  den  ? 
Defenceless  as  thou  wert,  oh  where  was  then 
Wisdom  the  mirrored  shield,  or  scorn  the  spear  ? 
Or  hadst  thou  waited  the  full  cycle  when 
Thy  spirit  should  have  filled  its  crescent  sphere, 
The  monsters  of  life's  waste  had  fled  from  thee  like 
deer. 

XXVIII. 

11  The  herded  wolves,  bold  only  to  pursue, 
The  obscene  ravens,  clamorous  o'er  the  dead, 
The  vultures,  to  the  conqueror's  banner  true, 
Who  feed  where  Desolation  first  has  fed, 


ADONAIS.  125 

And  whose  wings  rain  contagion,  —  how  they  fled, 
When,  like  Apollo,  from  his  golden  bow, 
The  Pythian  of  the  age  one  arrow  sped 
And  smiled !  —  The  spoilers  tempt  no  second  blow, 
They  fawn  on  the  proud  feet  that  spurn  them  lying  low. 

XXIX. 

"  The  sun  comes  forth,  and  many  reptiles  spawn ; 
He  sets,  and  each  ephemeral  insect  then 
Is  gathered  into  death  without  a  dawn, 
And  the  immortal  stars  awake  again. 
So  is  it  in  the  world  of  living  men : 
A  godlike  mind  soars  forth,  in  its  delight 
Making  earth  bare  and  veiling  heaven ;  and  when 
It  sinks,  the  swarms  that  dimmed  or  shared  its  light 
Leave  to  its  kindred  lamps  the  spirit's  awful  night." 

XXX. 

Thus  ceased  she  :  and  the  Mountain  Shepherds  came, 
Their  garlands  sere,  their  magic  mantles  rent. 
The  Pilgrim  of  Eternity,  whose  fame 
Over  his  living  head  like  heaven  is  bent, 
An  early  but  enduring  monument, 
Came,  veiling  all  the  lightnings  of  his  song 
In  sorrow.     From  her  wilds  Ierne  sent 
The  sweetest  lyrist  of  her  saddest  wrong, 
And  love  taught  grief  to  fall  like  music  from  his  tongue. 

XXXI. 

'Midst  others  of  less  note  came  one  frail  form, 
A  phantom  among  men,  companionless 


126  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

As  the  last  cloud  of  an  expiring  storm 
Whose  thunder  is  its  knell.     He,  as  I  guess, 
Had  gazed  on  Nature's  naked  loveliness, 
Actaeon-like ;  and  now  he  fled  astray 
With  feeble  steps  o'er  the  world's  wilderness, 
And  his  own  thoughts  along  that  rugged  way 
Pursued  like  raging  hounds  their  father  and  their  prey. 

XXXII. 

A  pard-like  Spirit  beautiful  and  swift  — 
A  love  in  desolation  masked  —  a  power 
Girt  round  with  weakness ;  it  can  scarce  uplift 
The  weight  of  the  superincumbent  hour ; 
It  is  a  dying  lamp,  a  falling  shower, 
A  breaking  billow ;  —  even  whilst  we  speak 
Is  it  not  broken  ?     On  the  withering  flower 
The  killing  sun  smiles  brightly :  on  a  cheek 
The  life  can  burn  in  blood,  even  while  the  heart  may 
break. 

XXXIII. 

His  head  was  bound  with  pansies  over-blown, 
And  faded  violets,  white  and  pied  and  blue ; 
And  a  light  spear  topped  with  a  cypress  cone, 
Round  whose  rude  shaft  dark  ivy-tresses  grew 
Yet  dripping  with  the  forest's  noonday  dew, 
Vibrated,  as  the  ever-beating  heart 
Shook  the  weak  hand  that  grasped  it.     Of  that  crew 
He  came  the  last,  neglected  and  apart ; 
A  herd-abandoned  deer  struck  by  the  hunter's  dart. 

xxxiv. 

All  stood  aloof,  and  at  his  partial  moan 

Smiled  through  their  tears ;  well  knew  that  gentle  band 


ADONAIS.  127 

Who  in  another's  fate  now  wept  his  own ; 

As  in  the  accents  of  an  unknown  land 

He  sang  new  sorrow ;  sad  Urania  scanned 

The  Stranger's  mien,  and  murmured :  "  Who  art  thou  ? " 

He  answered  not,  but  with  a  sudden  hand 

Made  bare  his  branded  and  ensanguined  brow, 

Which  was  like  Cain's  or  Christ's  —  Oh  that  it  should 
be  so! 

xxxv. 
What  softer  voice  is  hushed  over  the  dead  ? 
Athwart  what  brow  is  that  dark  mantle  thrown  ? 
What  form  leans  sadly  o'er  the  white  death-bed, 
In  mockery  of  monumental  stone, 
The  heavy  heart  heaving  without  a  moan  ? 
If  it  be  he,  who,  gentlest  of  the  wise, 
Taught,  soothed,  loved,  honoured  the  departed  one, 
Let  me  not  vex  with  inharmonious  sighs 

The  silence  of  that  heart's  accepted  sacrifice. 

xxxvi. 
Our  Adonais  has  drunk  poison  —  oh 
What  deaf  and  viperous  murderer  could  crown 
Life's  early  cup  with  such  a  draught  of  woe  ? 
The  nameless  worm  would  now  itself  disown : 
It  felt,  yet  could  escape,  the  magic  tone 
Whose  prelude  held  all  envy,  hate,  and  wrong, 
But  what  was  howling  in  one  breast  alone, 
Silent  with  expectation  of  the  song 
Whose  master's  hand  is  cold,  whose  silver  lyre  unstrung. 

XXXVII. 

Live  thou,  whose  infamy  is  not  thy  fame ! 
Live !  fear  no  heavier  chastisement  from  me, 


128  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

Thou  noteless  blot  on  a  remembered  name ! 
But  be  thyself,  and  know  thyself  to  be ! 
And  ever  at  thy  season  be  thou  free 
To  spill  the  venom  when  thy  fangs  o'erflow : 
Remorse  and  self-contempt  shall  cling  to  thee ; 
Hot  shame  shall  burn  upon  thy  secret  brow, 
And  like  a  beaten  hound  tremble  thou  shalt — as  now. 


XXXVIII. 

Nor  let  us  weep  that  our  delight  is  fled 
Far  from  those  carrion  kites  that  scream  below. 
He  wakes  or  sleeps  with  the  enduring  dead ; 
Thou  canst  not  soar  where  he  is  sitting  now. 
Dust  to  the  dust !  but  the  pure  spirit  shall  flow 
Back  to  the  burning  fountain  whence  it  came, 
A  portion  of  the  Eternal,  which  must  glow 
Through  time  and  change,  unquenchably  the  same, 
Whilst  thy  cold  embers  choke   the   sordid   hearth   of 
shame. 

xxxix. 

Peace,  peace !  he  is  not  dead,  he  doth  not  sleep  — 
He  hath  awakened  from  the  dream  of  life. 
'Tis  we,  who,  lost  in  stormy  visions,  keep 
With  phantoms  an  unprofitable  strife, 
And  in  mad  trance  strike  with  our  spirit's  knife 
Invulnerable  nothings.      We  decay 
Like  corpses  in  a  charnel ;  fear  and  grief 
Convulse  us  and  consume  us  day  by  day, 
And  cold  hopes  swarm   like  worms  within  our  living 
clay. 


ADONAIS.  129 


XL. 


He  has  outsoared  the  shadow  of  our  night. 
Envy  and  calumny,  and  hate  and  pain, 
And  that  unrest  which  men  miscall  delight, 
Can  touch  him  not  and  torture  not  again. 
From  the  contagion  of  the  world's  slow  stain 
He  is  secure,  and  now  can  never  mourn 
A  heart  grown  cold,  a  head  grown  grey  in  vain ; 
Nor,  when  the  spirit's  self  has  ceased  to  burn, 
With  sparkless  ashes  load  an  unlamented  urn. 

XLI. 

He  lives,  he  wakes  —  'tis  Death  is  dead,  not  he ; 
Mourn  not  for  Adonais.  —  Thou  young  Dawn, 
Turn  all  thy  dew  to  splendour,  for  from  thee 
The  spirit  thou  lamentest  is  not  gone ! 
Ye  caverns  and  ye  forests,  cease  to  moan  ! 
Cease  ye  faint  flowers  and  fountains,  and  thou  Air 
Which  like  a  morning  veil  thy  scarf  hadst  thrown 
O'er  the  abandoned  Earth,  now  leave  it  bare 
Even  to  the  joyous  stars  which  smile  on  its  despair! 

XLII. 

He  is  made  one  with  Nature.     There  is  heard 
His  voice  in  all  her  music,  from  the  moan 
Of  thunder,  to  the  song  of  night's  sweet  bird : 
He  is  a  presence  to  be  felt  and  known 
In  darkness  and  in  light,  from  herb  and  stone, 
Spreading  itself  where'er  that  Power  may  move 
Which  has  withdrawn  his  being  to  its  own, 
Which  wields  the  world  with  never  wearied  love, 
Sustains  it  from  beneath,  and  kindles  it  above. 


130  THE  BOOK  OF  ELEGIES. 


XLIII. 


He  is  a  portion  of  the  loveliness 
Which  once  he  made  more  lovely :  he  doth  bear 
His  part,  while  the  one  Spirit's  plastic  stress 
Sweeps  through  the  dull,  dense  world ;  compelling  there 
All  new  successions  to  the  forms  they  wear ; 
Torturing  th'  unwilling. dross  that  checks  its  flight 
To  its  own  likeness,  as  each  mass  may  bear ; 
And  bursting  in  its  beauty  and  its  might 
From  trees  and  beasts  and  men  into  the  heavens'  light. 

XLIV. 

The  splendours  of  the  firmament  of  time 
May  be  eclipsed,  but  are  extinguished  not : 
Like  stars  to  their  appointed  height  they  climb, 
And  death  is  a  low  mist  which  cannot  blot 
The  brightness  it  may  veil.     When  lofty  thought 
Lifts  a  young  heart  above  its  mortal  lair, 
And  love  and  life  contend  in  it,  for  what 
Shall  be  its  earthly  doom,  the  dead  live  there, 
And  move  like  winds  of  light  on  dark  and  stormy  air. 

XLV. 

The  inheritors  of  unfulfilled  renown 
Rose  from  their  thrones,  built  beyond  mortal  thought, 
Far  in  the  unapparent.     Chatterton 
Rose  pale,  his  solemn  agony  had  not 
Yet  faded  from  him  ;  Sidney,  as  he  fought 
And  as  he  fell,  and  as  he  lived  and  loved, 
Sublimely  mild,  a  spirit  without  spot, 
Arose;  and  Lucan,  by  his  death  approved;  — 
Oblivion  as  they  rose  shrank  like  a  thing  reproved. 


ADONAIS.  131 


XLVI. 


And  many  more,  whose  names  on  earth  are  dark 
But  whose  transmitted  effluence  cannot  die 
So  long  as  fire  outlives  the  parent  spark, 
Rose,  robed  in  dazzling  immortality. 
"Thou  art  become  as  one  of  us,"  they  cry; 
"  It  was  for  thee  yon  kingless  sphere  has  long 
Swung  blind  in  unascended  majesty, 
Silent  alone  amid  an  heaven  of  song. 
Assume  thy  wing&d  throne,  thou  Vesper  of  our  throng!  " 

XLVII. 

Who  mourns  for  Adonais  ?  oh,  come  forth, 
Fond  wretch,  and  know  thyself  and  him  aright. 
Clasp  with  thy  panting  soul  the  pendulous  earth ; 
As  from  a  centre,  dart  thy  spirit's  light 
Beyond  all  worlds,  until  its  spacious  might 
Satiate  the  void  circumference :  then  shrink 
Even  to  a  point  within  our  day  and  night ; 
And  keep  thy  heart  light,  lest  it  make  thee  sink 
When  hope  has  kindled  hope,  and  lured  thee  to  the 
brink. 

XL  VIII. 

Or  go  to  Rome,  which  is  the  sepulchre, 
•Oh,  not  of  him,  but  of  our  joy.     'Tis  nought 
That  ages,  empires,  and  religions,  there 
Lie  buried  in  the  ravage  they  have  wrought ; 
For  such  as  he  can  lend  —  they  borrow  not 
Glory  from  those  who  made  the  world  their  prey ; 
And  he  is  gathered  to  the  kings  of  thought 
Who  waged  contention  with  their  times'  decay, 
And  of  the  past  are  all  that  cannot  pass  away. 


132  THE  BOOK  OF  ELEGIES. 

XLIX. 

Go  thou  to  Rome  —  at  once  the  paradise, 
The  grave,  the  city,  and  the  wilderness : 
And  where  its  wrecks  like  shattered  mountains  rise, 
And  flowering  weeds  and  fragrant  copses*dress 
The  bones  of  Desolation's  nakedness, 
Pass,  till  the  Spirit  of  the  spot  shall  lead 
.  Thy  footsteps  to  a  slope  of  green  access, 
Where,  like  an  infant's  smile,  over  the  dead 
A  light  of  laughing  flowers  along  the  grass  is  spread, 


And  grey  walls  moulder  round,  on  which  dull  Time 
Feeds,  like  slow  fire  upon  a  hoary  brand ; 
And  one  keen  pyramid  with  wedge  sublime, 
Pavilioning  the  dust  of  him  who  planned 
This  refuge  for  his  memory,  doth  stand 
Like  flame  transformed  to  marble ;  and  beneath 
A  field  is  spread,  on  which  a  newer  band 
Have  pitched  in  Heaven's  smile  their  camp  of  death, 
Welcoming  him  we  lose  with  scarce  extinguished  breath 

LI. 

Here  pause.     These  graves  are  all  too  young  as  yet 
To  have  outgrown  the  sorrow  which  consigned 
Its  charge  to  each ;  and  if  the  seal  is  set 
Here  on  one  fountain  of  a  mourning  mind, 
Break  it  not  thou !  too  surely  shalt  thou  find 
Thine  own  well  full,  if  thou  returnest  home, 
Of  tears  and  gall.     From  the  world's  bitter  wind 
Seek  shelter  in  the  shadow  of  the  tomb. 
What  Adonais  is,  why  fear  we  to  become  ? 


ADONAIS.  133 


LII. 


The  One  remains,  the  many  change  and  pass ; 
Heaven's  light  for  ever  shines,  earth's  shadows  fly ; 
Life,  like  a  dome  of  many-coloured  glass, 
Stains  the  white  radiance  of  eternity, 
Until  Death  tramples  it  to  fragments.  —  Die, 
If  thou  wouldst  be  with  that  which  thou  dost  seek ! 
Follow  where  all  is  fled  !  —  Rome's  azure  sky, 
Flowers,  ruins,  statues,  music,  words  are  weak 
The  glory  they  transfuse  with  fitting  truth  to  speak. 

LIII. 

Why  linger,  why  turn  back,  why  shrink,  my  heart  ? 
Thy  hopes  are  gone  before :  from  all  things  here 
They  have  departed ;  thou  shouldst  now  depart ! 
A  light  is  past  from  the  revolving  year, 
And  man,  and  woman ;  and  what  still  is  dear 
Attracts  to  crush,  repels  to  make  thee  wither. 
The  soft  sky  smiles  —  the  low  wind  whispers  near : 
Tis  Adonais  calls  !     Oh,  hasten  thither  ! 
No  more  let  life  divide  what  death  can  join  together. 

LIV. 

That  light  whose  smile  kindles  the  universe, 
That  beauty  in  which  all  things  work  and  move, 
That  benediction  which  the  eclipsing  curse 
Of  birth  can  quench  not,  that  sustaining  Love 
Which  through  the  web  of  being  blindly  wove 
By  man  and  beast  and  earth  and  sky  and  sea, 
Burns  bright  or  dim,  as  each  are  mirrors  of 
The  fire  for  which  all  thirst,  now  beams  on  me, 
Consuming  the  last  clouds  of  cold  mortality. 


134  THE  BOOK  OF  ELEGIES. 

LV. 

The  breath  whose  might  I  have  invoked  in  song 
Descends  on  me ;  my  spirit's  bark  is  driven 
Far  from  the  shore,  far  from  the  trembling  throng 
Whose  sails  were  never  to  the  tempest  given  ; 
The  massy  earth  and  sphered  skies  are  riven ! 
I  am  borne  darkly,  fearfully  afar  ! 
Whilst,  burning  through  the  inmost  veil  of  heaven, 
The  soul  of  Adonais,  like  a  star, 
Beacons  from  the  abode  where  the  Eternal  are. 


NOTES. 

The  Author. 

Percy  Bysshe  Shelley  was  the  son  of  Sir  Timothy  Shelley,  and  was 
born  at  Field  Place,  Sussex,  August  4,  1792.  At  the  age  of  eighteen  he 
was  sent  to  Oxford  University,  but  having  written  and  published  a  pam- 
phlet in  defence  of  atheism,  he  was  expelled  before  completing  half  his 
course.  In  18 14  he  wrote  Queen  Mab,  his  first  long  poem.  This  was 
followed  in  181 5  by  Alastor,  or  the  Spirit  of  Solitude ',  and  in  181 7  by 
The  Revolt  of  Islam.  In  181 8  he  went  to  Italy  and  resided  successively 
in  Rome,  Venice,  and  Pisa.  There  he  produced  the  most  important  of 
his  works:  the  two  dramas,  Prometheus  Unbound  and  The  Cenci ;  also 
The  Witch  of  Atlas,  Epipsychidion,  Adonais,  and  Hellas.  On  the  8th  of 
April,  1822,  he  was  drowned  while  attempting  to  cross  the  Gulf  of  Spezia 
in  a  boat.  In  compliance  with  the  quarantine  laws  of  Italy,  his  body  was 
burned  on  the  shore.  His  ashes  were  deposited  in  the  Protestant  ceme- 
tery at  Rome,  near  the  grave  of  Keats. 

The  Poem. 

Adonais  was  written  at  Pisa,  Italy,  in  May,  1821.  "There  is  much  in 
Adonais"  says  Mrs.  Shelley,  "  which  seems  now  more  applicable  to  Shelley 
himself  than  to  the  young  and  gifted  poet  whom  he  mourned.  The  poetic 
view  he  takes  of  death,  and  the  lofty  scorn  he  displays  towards  his  calum- 


ADONAIS.  135 

niators,  are  as  a  prophecy  on  his  own  destiny  when  received  among 
immortal  names,  and  the  poisonous  breath  of  critics  has  vanished  into 
emptiness  before  the  fame  he  inherits." 

"  Adonais  must  rank  among  the  most  perfect  of  Shelley's  poems  for 
symmetry  of  design,  united  with  rich  elaboration  of  details,"  says  Tod- 
hunter.  "  He  has  here  done  what  Keats  himself  counselled  him  to  do,  — 
filled  every  rift  of  his  subject  with  ore." 

"  It  presents  Shelley's  qualities  in  a  form  of-  even  and  sustained  beauty, 
brought  within  the  sphere  of  the  dullest  apprehensions.  Shelley  dwells 
upon  the  art  of  the  poem;  and  this,  perhaps,  is  what  at  first  sight  will 
strike  the  student  most." 

R.  H.  Hutton  describes  the  poem  as  "  a  shimmer  of  beautiful  regret, 
full  of  arbitrary  though  harmonious  and  delicate  fancies." 

There  is  reason  to  believe  that  Shelley  regarded  Adonais  as  his  master- 
piece. "  I  confess,"  says  he,  "  I  should  be  surprised  if  that  poem  were 
born  to  an  oblivion."  "The  Adonais"  he  writes  to  a  friend,  "is  the  least 
imperfect  of  my  compositions."  To  another  he  says,  "  It  is  a  highly 
wrought  piece  of  art,  and  perhaps  better,  in  point  of  composition,  than 
anything  I  have  written. "  To  another,  "  It  is  absurd  in  any  review  to 
criticise  Adonais,  and  still  more  to  pretend  that  the  verses  are  bad."  And 
again,  "  I  know  what  to  think  of  Adonais,  but  what  to  think  of  those  who 
confound  it  with  the  many  bad  poems  of  the  day,  I  know  not." 

The  Title. 

Adonais.  This  name  was  probably  suggested  to  Shelley  by  Bion's 
Lament  for  Adonis,  of  which  it  is  in  some  parts  an  imitation.  "  Dr.  Fur- 
nivall  has  suggested  to  me,"  says  Rossetti,  "that  Adonais  is  Shelley's 
variant  of  Adonias,  the  women's  yearly  mourning  for  Adonis  "  (see  note  I, 
page  30). 

'Avttjp  irplv  k.  t.  X.  This  distich  from  Plato  is  elsewhere  translated 
by  Shelley  in  the  following  lines  To  Stella  :  — 

"  Thou  wert  the  Morning  Star  among  the  living, 
Ere  thy  fair  light  had  fled ;  — 
Now,  having  died,  thou  art  as  Hesperus,  giving 
New  splendour  to  the  dead." 

The  Introduction. 

John  Keats  died  in  February,  1821,  —  the  day  being  given  differently 
by  different  authors,  as  the  21st,  23d,  24th,  or  27th,  —  and  not  on  the 
27th  of  December,  1820,  as  stated  in  Sheiley's  Preface.     He  was  not  what 


136  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

we  would  call  an  intimate  friend  of  Shelley's,  nor  had  his  earlier  poems 
been  at  all  acceptable  to  the  latter.  But  his  fragment  of  Hyperion  had 
given  great  pleasure  to  Shelley,  who  declared  that  he  considered  it  "  as 
second  to  nothing  that  was  ever  produced  by  ,a  writer  of  the  same  years." 
It  is  not  probable  that  the  "  savage  criticism "  of  Endymion  in  the 
Quarterly  Review  did  much,  if  anything,  towards  hastening  the  death  of 
the  young  poet  who  was  already  predisposed  to  consumption. 

"  He  was  accompanied  to  Rome,"  says  Shelley,  in  concluding  his 
Preface,  "  and  attended  in  his  last  illness  by  Mr.  Severn,  a  young  artist 
of  the  highest  promise,  who,  I  have  been  informed,  ■  almost  risked  his  own 
life,  and  sacrificed  every  prospect,  to  unwearied  attendance  upon  his  dying 
friend.'  Had  I  known  these  circumstances  before  the  completion  of  my 
poem,  I  should  have  been  tempted  to  add  my  feeble  tribute  of  applause 
to  the  more  solid  recompense  which  the  virtuous  man  finds  in  the  recol- 
lection of  his  own  motives.  Mr.  Severn  can  dispense  with  a  reward  from 
*  such  stuff  as  dreams  are  made  of.'  His  conduct  is  a  golden  augury  of 
the  success  of  his  future  career  —  may  the  unextinguished  Spirit  of  his 
illustrious  friend  animate  the  creations  of  his  pencil,  and  plead  against 
Oblivion  for  his  name  !  " 

Of  Shelley's  Preface  to  the  poem,  I  have  given  only  a  part,  omitting 
that  portion  in  which  he  launches  into  an  invective  against  the  critics  in 
the  Quarterly  Revieiu,  —  a  paragraph  which  adds  no  lustre  to  its  author's 
fame,  and  which  can  be  of  but  little  interest  to  the  readers  of  Adonais. 
"The  fact  is,"  says  Todhunter,  "  that  this  preface  was  a  somewhat  botched- 
up  affair.  It  is  evident  from  the  first  sentence,  and  the  cancelled  passages 
that  remain,  that  Shelley  intended  to  have  written  a  more  fitting  introduc- 
tion to  the  poem,  vindicating  Keats's  claim  to  a  place  among  the  great 
poets  of  the  day;  and  it  is  also  evident  that  the  story,  so  derogatory  to 
Keats,  of  his  having  died  of  a  criticism,  threw  a  somewhat  lurid  light  over 
his  champion's  imagination.  The  false  story  struck  a  false  chord  of  feeling 
in  Shelley's  mind." 

Stanza  I. 

i .  Compare  this  line  with  the  first  line  of  Bion's  Lament  for  Adonis 
(see  pages  21  and  24).  Also  compare  the  whole  of  the  first  stanza  of 
Mrs.  Browning's  version  of  the  lament,  with  the  whole  of  this  stanza. 

Stanza  II. 

2.  Where  wert  thou?  See  The  Sorrow  of  Daphnis,  3;  also  Lycidas, 
50-55,  and  note  3,  page  14.  —  mighty  Mother.  Urania.  Shelley  addresses 
Urania  as  the  heavenly  Venus,  the  Aphrodite  Urania  or  spirit  of  eternal 


ADONAIS.  137 

love  and  beauty.  There  were  two  Uranias,  the  Muse  Urania  and  Aphro- 
dite Urania.  Shelley  does  not  seem  to  have  had  in  mind  the  exact  distinc- 
tion between  them.  Although  in  this  passage  and  in  some  others  which 
follow  he  clearly  intends  reference  to  the  latter,  he  addresses  her  in  the 
fourth  stanza  as  "  most  musical  of  mourners,"  as  if  he  meant  the  former. 
It  is  the  Muse  Urania  whom  Milton  invokes  in  Paradise  Lost,  vii.  7 :  — 

"  Heavenly-born 
Before  the  hills  appear'd,  or  fountain  flow'd, 
Thou  with  eternal  Wisdom  didst  converse. 
Wisdom,  thy  sister,  and  with  her  didst  play 
In  presence  of  the  Almighty  Father,  pleas'd 
With  thy  celestial  song." 

Tennyson,  in  Ln  Memoriam,  37  (which  see),  also  refers  to  the  Muse. 
But  in  The  Princess,  to  the  Aphrodite  Urania :  — 

"  The  seal  was  Cupid  bent  above  a  scroll, 
And  o'er  his  head  Uranian  Venus  hung 
And  raised  the  blinding  bandage  from  his  eyes." 

There  is  a  great  contrast  between  Urania,  the  patroness  of  spiritual  love, 
and  the  sensuous  Venus  (Aphrodite  Pandemos)  of  Bion's  Lament,  yet 
Shelley's  imitation  of  the  Greek  idyl  is  very  apparent. 

3.  pierced  by  the  shaft  which  flies  in  darkness.  Bion  speaks  of 
the  thigh  of  Adonis  "  pierced  by  a  tusk."  The  shaft  which  flies  in  dark- 
ness is  death.  In  Psalms  xci.  6,  it  is  called  "  the  pestilence  that  walketh 
in  darkness."  Some  critics  understand  the  allusion  here  to  be  to  the 
savage  attack  made  anonymously  upon  Keats  in  the  Quarterly  Review. 
But  this  view  seems  to  be  scarcely  warranted  by  the  context. 

Stanza  III. 

2.  wake  and  weep.  Compare  again  with  Bion's  Lament  for  Adonis, 
"Sleep  no  more,  Venus;  rise,  wretched  goddess,"  etc.  See  also  note  2, 
page  31.  "A  hostile  reviewer,"  says  Rossetti,  "might  have  been  expected 
to  indulge  in  one  of  the  most  familiar  of  cheap  jokes,  and  to  say  that 
Urania  had  naturally  fallen  asleep  over  Keats's  poems;  but  I  am  not 
aware  that  any  critic  of  Adonais  did  actually  say  this." 

7.  amorous  Deep.  Another  metaphor  meaning  Death.  Compare 
Romeo  and  Juliet,  v.  3,  102 :  — 

"  Shall  I  believe 
That  unsubstantial  Death  is  amorous, 
And  that  the  lean  abhorred  monster  keeps 
Thee  here  in  darkness  to  be  his  paramour  ?  " 


138  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

Shelley  may  have  in  mind  the  line  in  Bion's  Lament  for  Adonis  (line  19, 
page  24),  "  Persephone  does  not  release  him,"  the  amorous  Persephone 
being  the  queen  of  the  dead. 


Stanza  IV. 


3.   the  Sire.     John  Milton,  author  of  Paradise  Lost. 

9.  the  third  among  the  sons  of  light.  It  is  not  entirely  certain  who 
would  have  been  named  by  Shelley  as  the  first  and  second,  but  perhaps 
the  following  passage  from  his  Defence  of  Poetry  will  make  it  sufficiently 
clear:  "  Homer  was  the  first  and  Dante  the  second  epic  poet;  that  is,  the 
second  epic  poet,  the  series  of  whose  creations  bore  a  defined  and  intelli- 
gible relation  to  the  knowledge  and  sentiment  and  religion  of  the  age  in 
which  he  lived,  and  of  the  ages  which  followed  it,  developing  itself  in 
correspondence  with  their  development.  .  .  .  Milton  was  the  third  epic 
poet."     A  similar  idea  is  expressed  by  Dryden :  — 

"  Three  poets  in  three  distant  ages  born, 
Greece,  Italy,  and  England,  did  adorn. 
The  first  in  loftiness  of  thought  surpass'd ; 
The  next  in  majesty ;  in  both  the  last. 
The  force  of  nature  could  no  further  go ; 
To  make  a  third,  she  join'd  the  former  two." 

Stanza  V. 

Hales  says :  "  This  is  a  very  obscure  stanza.  It  seems  to  mean :  not  all 
poets  have  essayed  such  lofty  flights  as  Milton,  i.e.  attempted  Epic  poetry; 
but  some  have  wisely  taken  a  lower  level,  i.e.  attempted  Lyric  poetry, 
and  are  still  remembered  as  Lyric  poets,  as,  for  instance,  Gray  or  Burns; 
others,  attempting  a  middle  flight,  have  been  cut  off  in  the  midst  of  their 
work,  as  Keats  and  Spenser,  whom,  — 

"  '  Ere  he  ended  his  melodious  song 

An  host  of  angels  flew  the  clouds  among 
And  rapt  this  swan  from  his  attentive  mates 
To  make  him  one  of  their  associates 
In  Heaven's  faire  quire.' 

Others  yet  live,  of  whom  nothing  definite  can  be  said,  e.g.  Shelley  himself, 
and  Byron."    To  these  we  might  add  Wordsworth  and  Coleridge. 

Stanza  VI. 

3.  by  some  sad  maiden  cherished.  See  Keats's  poem,  Isabella ,  or 
the  Pot  of  Basil :  — 


ADONAIS.  139 

"  And  so  she  ever  fed  it  with  thin  tears, 
Whence  thick,  and  green,  and  beautiful  it  grew, 
So  that  it  smelt  more  balmy  than  its  peers 
Of  Basil-tufts  in  Florence." 

g.   The  broken   lily.      Compare   Shakespeare,  King  Henry   VIII., 

v.3:  — 

"  A  most  unspotted  lily  shall  she  pass 
To  the  ground,  and  all  the  world  shall  mourn  her." 

Stanza  VII. 

1.  high  capital.  Rome.  See  Byron,  Childe  Harold's  Pilgrimage, 
iv.  78 :  — 

"  O  Rome !  my  country !  city  of  the  soul ! 
.  .  .  Come  and  see 
The  cypress,  hear  the  owl,  and  plod  your  way 
O'er  steps  of  broken  thrones  and  temples,  ye ! 
Whose  agonies  are  evils  of  a  day  — 
A  world  is  at  our  feet  as  fragile  as  our  clay." 

— the  eternal.  The  illustrious  dead  of  mighty  Rome,  which  is  itself 
called  the  "  eternal  city."  / 

7.  as  if  in  dewy  sleep  he  lay.  Compare  with  the  Lament  for 
Adonis  (page  23):  "And  though  a  corpse  he  is  beautiful,  a  beautiful 
corpse  as  it  were  sleeping."  The  resemblance  of  Death  to  Sleep  is  hinted 
at  by  Shelley  in  the  opening  lines  of  his  first  long  poem,  Queen  Mab  :  — 

"  How  wonderful  is  Death, — 
Death  and  his  brother  Sleep !  " 

But  this  idea  was  probably  suggested  by  the  beautiful  passage  in  Homer's 
Iliad,  xiv.,  beginning  thus:  "Then  Hera  came  to  Lemnos,  the  city  of 
godlike  Thoas.     There  she  met  Sleep,  the  brother  of  Death,"  etc. 

Stanza  VIII. 

3.  shadow  of  white  Death.  -So,  in  Job  x.  21 :  "The  land  of  dark- 
ness and  the  shadow  of  death";  and  in  Psalms  xxiii.  4:  "Yea,  though 
I  walk  through  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death."  In  the  third  line 
below,  Shelley  calls  corruption  the  "  eternal  Hunger."  The  grave,  accord- 
ing to  Solomon  {Proverbs  xxx.  16),  is  the  first  of  "three  things  that  are 
never  satisfied,  yea,  of  four  things  that  say  not  It  is  enough."  —  His 
extreme  way,  i.e.  "  Adonais's  last  journey."  —  her,  i.e.  corruption's.  — 
dim  dwelling-place.    The  grave. 


140  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

Stanza  IX. 

3.  flocks.  Shelley  here  falls  into  the  pastoral  strain.  Adonais,  like 
Bion  (see  page  39)  and  Lycidas,  becomes  a  shepherd,  a  keeper  of  flocks, 
a  herdsman.  The  Dreams  —  M  inisters  of  Thought  —  were  Adonais's  poetic 
imaginings.     See  Wordsworth,  Peek  Castle,  etc. :  — 

"  The  light  that  never  was  on  sea  or  land, 
The  consecration  and  the  Poet's  dream." 

Stanza  X. 

I.  And  one.  Compare  the  ministration  of  the  Dreams,  as  described 
in  this  and  the  following  stanza,  with  the  mourning  of  the  Loves  in  the 
Lament  for  Adonis  (page  24),  ending  with  the  sentence,  "and  another 
behind  him  is  fanning  Adonis  with  his  wings." 

3.  not  dead.  Compare  with  Lycidas,  166;  also  with  the  Mournfull 
Lay  of  Clorinda  :  — 

"  Ah  !  no  :  it  is  not  dead,  ne  can  it  die, 
But  lives  for  aie,  in  blisfull  Paradise." 

—  Lost  Angel.     The  faded  dream.  —  of  a  ruined  Paradise.    Of  the  dead 
poet's  mind. 

9.   faded,  like  a  cloud,  etc.     See  Keats's  Endymion  :  — 
"  Therein 
A  melancholy  spirit  might  win 
Oblivion,  and  melt  out  his  essence  fine 
Into  the  winds." 

Stanza  XI. 

1.  starry  dew.  It  was  formerly  supposed  that  the  dew  was  distilled 
from  the  stars.  Compare  this  entire  sentence  with  the  La?nent  for  Adonis 
(page  24)  :  "  Another  is  carrying  water  in  golden  ewers,  and  a  third  is 
bathing  his  thighs." 

3.  clipped  her  profuse  locks.  So  the  Loves,  weeping  for  Adonis, 
"had  their  locks  shorn"  for  him.  See  page  24,  also  note  17,  page  35. 
Accent  the  word  profuse  on  the  first  syllable.  —  The  wreath.  This 
cannot  mean  a  wreath  made  of  the  "  profuse  locks."  Is  it  not  rather  the 
laurel  wreath,  meed  of  poets,  which  had  fallen  from  his  head  and  is  now 
thrown  aimlessly  upon  him  ?     I  hazard  this  as  a  conjecture. 

7.  break  her  bow  and  winged  reeds.  So  of  the  Loves  (see  page 
24),  "one  was  trampling  on  his  arrows,  another  on  his  bow,  and  another 
was  breaking  his  well-feathered  quiver."  See  note  18,  page  35.  Com- 
pare with  the  Countess  of  Pembroke's  Dolefull  Lay  of  Clorinda  :  — 


ADONAIS.  141 

"  Breake  now  your  gyrlonds,  O  ye  shepheards  lasses, 
Sith  the  fair  flowre  which  them  adornd  is  gon." 

—  stem.     Oppose;   set  over  against. 

9.  barbed  fire.  The  flaming  tips  of  the  winged  reeds  mentioned 
above.     Figuratively,  the  poetic  fire  of  the  winged  messengers  of  thought. 

—  frozen  cheek.     See  "  frozen  tears,"  only  four  lines  above. 

Stanza  XII. 
1.    splendour.     Poetic  inspiration,  or  Dream. 

Stanza  XIII. 

1.  Others  came.  Compare  with  the  Sorrow  of  Daphnis,  page  10,  line 
2,  the  passage  beginning,  "Then  came  those  who  tend  the  kine,"  etc. 
Also  with  Lament  for  Bion,  page  40,  line  9,  beginning,  "  Apollo  himself 
lamented,"  etc.  Also  with  Lycidas,  the  passages  referring  to  the  coming 
of  Triton,  Camus,  St.  Peter,  etc.     See  note  8,  page  16. 

Stanza  XIV. 

4.  her  hair  unbound.  It  is  questionable  whether  Shelley  really  meant 
anything  by  the  hair  of  Morning,  or  whether  this  passage  is  simply  an 
imitation  of  the  lines  in  the  Lament  for  Adonis  (page  25)  :  — 

"  And  the  poor  Aphrodite  with  tresses  unbound, 
All  dishevell'd,"  etc. 

Could  he  have  meant  the  morning  mists,  or  foggy  exhalations,  which, 
while  they  ought  to  have  fallen  upon  the  ground  in  the  form  of  dew, 
remained  suspended  in  the  air,  and  dimmed  the  light  of  the  sun's  rays? 
In  representing  the  grief  of  inanimate  nature,  —  morning,  thunder,  the 
ocean,  echo,  etc.,  —  for  the  dead  Adonais,  Shelley  but  imitates  the  older 
poets.  See  the  Lament  for  Adonis,  page  22,  where  the  mountains,  the 
rivers,  and  the  oaks  are  said  to  weep;  also  the  Lament  for  Bion,  page  39, 
where  the  mourners  are  the  rivers,  the  groves,  and  the  flowers. 

Stanza  XV. 

1.  lost  Echo.  Compare  with  Moschus,  Lament  for  Bion:  "And 
Echo  in  the  rocks  laments  that  thou  art  silent,"  etc.  (see  page  40).  Also 
with  Adonis,  page  22 :  "  And  Echo  cried  in  response,"  etc. 

5.  bell  at  closing  day.  See  Gray's  Elegy,  1 ;  also  note  1,  page  107. 
In  this  stanza  the  poet  succeeds  in  presenting  to  the  mind  a  true  picture 
of  sounds. 


142  THE  BOOK  OF  ELEGIES. 

Stanza  XVI. 

i.  threw  down  her  kindling  buds.  See  Lament  for  Bion,  line  15, 
page  40.  Also  note  16,  page  34,  and  Lycidas,  134,  and  the  account  of 
Balder  on  page  30. 

5.  Hyacinth.  See  note  2,  page  44.  —  Narcissus.  Ovid  relates  how 
Narcissus  fell  in  love  with  his  own  shadow  reflected  in  a  fountain,  and, 
having  pined  away  because  he  could  not  kiss  it,  was  changed  into  the 
flower  that  bears  his  name.  Shelley  here  falls  into  some  confusion,  mixing 
up  in  the  same  connection  references  to  both  the  flowers  themselves  and 
the  mythological  personages  from  whom  they  derived  their  names. 

Stanza  XVII. 

x.   lorn  nightingale.     See  Keats's  Ode  to  a  Nightingale:  — 

"  Forlorn !  the  word  is  like  a  bell 
To  toll  me  back  from  thee  to  my  sole  self." 

See  Lament  for  Bion,  II,  also  note  3,  page  45,  and  note  56  on  "the  pore 
turtle,"  page  71. 

7.  Albion  wails  for  thee.  See  the  Mourning  Muse  of  Thestylis  : 
"  Thou  wouldst  have  heard  the  cry  that  wofull  England  made."  See  also 
Lament  for  Bion  :  "  Every  famous  city  laments  thee,  and  every  town." 
Albion  is  the  ancient  name  for  England,  so  called  from  the  early  inhabi- 
tants, the  Albiones.  An  old  legend  relates  that  it  was  so  called  after 
Albion,  the  giant  son  of  Neptune,  who  was  its  discoverer  and  first  king. 
Another  explanation  of  the  name  is  that  it  is  derived  from  Latin  albus, 
white,  with  reference  to  the  white  chalk  cliffs  on  the  southern  coast, 
some  of  which  are  visible  from  France.  It  is  a  wide  stretch  of  the 
imagination  to  suppose  that  England  really  lamented  the  death  of  Keats. 

7.  curse  of  Cain.  See  Genesis  iv.  11.  See  also  Shelley's  Preface  to 
the  poem,  where  in  reference  to  the  supposed  author  of  the  criticism  in 
the  Quarterly  Review,  he  exclaims :  "  Miserable  man !  you,  one  of  the 
meanest,  have  wantonly  defaced  one  of  the  noblest  specimens  of  the  work- 
manship of  God.  Nor  shall  it  be  your  excuse  that,  murderer  as  you  are, 
you  have  spoken  daggers,  but  used  none."  See  also  Lament  for  Bion  : 
"  What  mortal  was  so  cruel  that  he  could  mix  poison  for  thee?  " 

Stanza  XVIII. 

1.  Compare  this  and  the  following  stanza  with  the  Lament  for  Bion, 
lines  8-15,  page  43.     Also  with  the  Shepheards  Calender,  November  :  — 


ADONAIS.  143 

"  Whence  is  it,  that  the  flouret  of  the  field  doth  fade, 
And  lyeth  buried  long  in  Winters  bale ; 
Yet,  soone  as  Spring  his  mantle  hath  displayde, 
It  floureth  fresh  as  it  should  never  fayle  ? 
But  thing  of  earth  that  is  of  most  availe 

As  vertues  branch  and  beauties  bud, 

Reliven  not  for  any  good." 

— But  grief  returns  with  the  revolving  year.  See  the  La?nent  for 
Adonis:  "Thou  must  wail  again,  and  weep  again  next  year."  Shelley 
now  goes  on  to  describe  the  coming  of  spring,  already  alluded  to  in  XVI., 
above.  —  brere.     Briar.  —  God  dawned  on  Chaos.     See  Genesis  i. 

Stanza  XX. 

3.   Like  incarnations  of   the   stars.      See   Longfellow's  poem  on 
Flower s,  5  :  — 

"  Stars  they  are  wherein  we  read  our  history, 

Everywhere  about  us  they  are  glowing  — 
Some  like  stars,  to  tell  us  Spring  is  born." 

The  literal  meaning  of  incarnation  is  a  clothing  or  embodiment  in  flesh. 
Shelley  certainly  did  not  mean  that  flowers  are  like  stars  clothed  in  flesh, 
but  rather  that  they  are  like  stars  brought  down  to  earth.  —  Nought  we 
know  dies.  Forms  and  conditions  change,  but  nothing  is  annihilated. 
Even  "  the  leprous  corpse  "  —  the  loathsome  body  of  decay  —  "  touched 
by  this  spirit  tender,"  of  Spring  and  love's  delight,  "exhales  itself  in 
flowers  of  gentle  breath."  Shall  then  the  mind  alone  — "  that  alone 
which  knows"  —  perish,  while  matter  continues  to  exist?  — 

"  The  stream  flows, 
The  wind  blows, 
The  cloud  fleets, 
The  heart  beats, 
Nothing  will  die. 
Nothing  will  die ; 
All  things  will  change 
Through  eternity." —  Tennyson. 

8.   sightless.     Viewless,  invisible,  unseen.     As  in  Hamlet,  i.  5  :  — 

"  Wherever  in  your  sightless  substances 
You  wait  on  Nature's  mischief!  " 

—  th*  intense  atom.  The  mind;  the  intellectual  part  of  our  being. 
The  question  is  still  implied  in  this  sentence,  as,  "  Shall  th'  intense  atom 
glow?"  etc. 


144  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

Stanza  XXI. 

i.  all  we  loved  of  him.  His  mind;  his  real  self  as  apart  from  his 
body. —who  lends  what  life  must  borrow.  Death  is  the  great  fact. 
Everything  is  derived  from  it,  and  must  return  to  it  again.  "  Dust  thou 
art  and  unto  dust  thou  must  return." 

Stanza  XXII. 

i.  childless  Mother.  Urania.  See  note  2,  above.  Compare  this 
stanza  with  the  opening  lines  in  Lament  for  Adonis. 

4.  a  wound  more  fierce.  See  Lament  for  Adonis,  iii.  3  (page  25). 
Observe  the  appropriateness  here  of  these  words  spoken  by  Misery :  — 

"  Shadow-vested  Misery 
Coy,  unwilling,  silent  bride, 
Mourning  in  thy  robe  of  pride, 
Desolution  deified."  —  Shelley,  Misery. 

8.  snake  Memory.  Shelley  had  a  peculiar  sympathy  for  snakes,  and 
one  of  the  pets  of  his  childhood  was  a  harmless  old  serpent  that  had  long 
frequented  his  father's  garden,  and  was  finally  accidentally  killed  by  the 
gardener's  scythe.  No  disagreeable  meaning  must  therefore  be  applied 
to  the  expression  "  snake  memory." 

Stanza  XXIII. 

1 .  She  rose,  etc.  Compare  this  stanza  with  Lament  for  Adonis,  iii. 
5-15  (page  26).  This  and  the  following  stanzas  describe  the  hastening 
of  Urania  from  her  own  "  secret  Paradise  "  to  the  death  chamber. 

Stanza  XXIV. 

5.  Palms  of  her  tender  feet.  Soles.  This  use  of  the  word  palms  is 
peculiar  to  Shelley :  — 

"Our  feet  now,  every  palm, 
Are  sandalled  with  calm."  —  Prometheus  Unbound,  iv. 

8.  blood  like  the  young  tears  of  May.  See  Lament  for  Adonis, 
page  inline  23. 

Stanza  XXVI. 

1.  "Stay  yet  a  while/'  etc.  Compare  this  stanza  with  the  Lament 
for  Adonis,  v.  (page  26),  beginning  with,  — 

"  Stay,  Adonis !  unhappy  one,  stay !  " 


A  DONA  IS.  145 

3.  heartless  breast.  That  is,  breast  from  which  the  heart  has  been 
crushed  by  sorrow. 

9.  I  am  chained  to  Time,  etc.  Compare  with  Lament  for  Adonis, 
page  23 :  "  Wretched  I  live,  and  am  a  goddess,  and  cannot  follow  thee." 

Stanza  XXVII. 

4.  unpastured  dragon.  The  savage  critic.  So  Venus  to  Adonis: 
"Nay,  why,  rash  one,  didst  thou  hunt?" 

6.  Wisdom  the  mirrored  shield.  The  shield  of  discretion  which, 
while  protecting  from  assault,  shows  the  weak  points  of  the  enemy.  The 
reference  is  probably  to  the  shield  of  Perseus,  into  which  he  looked  while 
attacking  the  Gorgon.  —  scorn  the  spear.  The  magic  spear,  familiar 
in  both  ancient  and  mediaeval  romances,  whose  lightest  touch  overcomes 
the  enemy. 

9.  monsters  of  life's  waste.  They  are  specified  in  the  following 
stanza.  The  poet  thus  characterizes  the  critics  whose  adverse  judgments 
he  believed  to  have  hastened  Keats's  death. 

Stanza  XXVIII. 

7.  The  Pythian  of  the  age.  Byron.  The  one  arrow  which  he  sped 
was  the  poem,  English  Bards  and  Scotch  Reviewers,  in  which  he  gave 
answer  to  the  writers  who  had  severely  criticized  his  own  early  poetry. 
Apollo  was  called  the  Pythian  because  he  attacked  and  slew  the  huge 
serpent  Python  which  infested  the  neighborhood  of  Krissa.  Hence  the 
application  of  the  title  to  Byron,  who  made  an  onslaught  upon  the  serpents 
of  the  literary  press.  Shelley  has  probably  in  mind  the  famous  statue  of 
Apollo  Belvedere,  representing  the  god  in  the  act  of  shooting  the  Python 
with  an  arrow  from  his  bow.     Byron  had  just  written  of  this  statue :  — 

"  Or  view  the  Lord  of  the  unerring  bow, 
The  god  of  life,  and  poesy,  and  light  — 
The  sun  in  human  limbs  arrayed,  and  brow 
All  radiant  from  his  triumph  in  the  fight. 

Childe  Harold,  iv.  161. 

Stanza  XXX. 

2.  Compare  this  line  with  Lycidas,  104,  105.  The  "  uncouth  swain" 
(Lycidas,  192)  had  also  a  mantle  —  "blue."  The  mountain  shepherds, 
as  explained  in  the  lines  which  follow,  are  the  poet  friends  of  Keats. 
Observe  the  recurrence  again  to  the  imagery  of  pastoral  poetry. 

3.  Pilgrim  of  Eternity.     Byron  was  so  called  because  of  lis  famous 


146  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

poem,  Childe  Harold's  Pilgrimage,  of  which  he  himself  was  the  acknowl- 
edged hero. 

7.  In  sorrow.  Byron  does  not  seem  to  have  felt  much  sorrow  for 
Keats.     This  is  what  he  wrote  about  his  death :  — 

"  John  Keats  —  who  was  killed  off  by  one  critique 
Just  as  he  really  promised  something  great, 
If  not  intelligible  —  without  Greek 

Contrived  to  talk  about  the  Gods  of  late, 
Much  as  they  might  have  been  supposed  to  speak. 

Poor  fellow !  his  was  an  untoward  fate ! 
'Tis  strange  the  mind,  that  fiery  particle, 
Should  let  itself  be  snuffd  out  by  an  article."  —  Don  Juan,  xi. 
And  again :  — 

" ■  Who  killed  John  Keats? ' 
'I,'  says  the  Quarterly, 
So  savage  and  Tartarly ; 
1  'Twas  one  of  my  feats.'  " 

7.  Ierne.  Ireland.  The  sweetest  lyrist  was  Thomas  Moore,  author  of 
Irish  Melodies,  National  Airs,  etc.  By  "her  saddest  wrong,"  Shelley 
probably  refers  to  the  suppression  of  the  rebellion  of  1803.  See  many  of 
the  songs  in  the  above-mentioned  collections.  "  Whether  Moore  ever 
showed  the  faintest  interest  in  or  grief  for  Keats,  I  know  not." —  W.  M. 
Rossetti. 

Stanza  XXXI. 

1.  one  frail  Form.  The  reference  in  this  and  two  stanzas  following 
is  to  Shelley  himself.  —  Actaeon-like.  Actseon  was  a  huntsman,  who, 
having  accidently  surprised  Artemis  bathing,  was  changed  by  that  goddess 
into  a  stag,  and  was  torn  to  pieces  by  his  own  hounds.  "  By  this  expres- 
sion," says  Rossetti,  "  Shelley  apparently  means  that  he  had  over-boldly 
tried  to  fathom  the  depths  of  things  and  of  mind,  but,  baffled  and  dismayed 
in  the  effort,  suffered,  as  a  man  living  among  men,  by  the  very  tension 
and  vividness  of  his  thoughts,  and  their  daring  in  expression."  Shelley 
himself  says:  "As  a  man  I  shrink  from  notice  and  regard;  the  ebb  and 
flow  of  the  world  vexes  me:  I  desire  to  be  left  in  peace.  Persecution, 
contumely,  and  calumny  have  been  heaped  upon  me  in  profuse  measure." 

Stanza  XXXIII. 

9.   herd-abandoned  deer.     See  Hamlet,  iii.  2 :  — 

"  Why,  let  the  stricken  deer  go  weep, 
The  hart  ungalled  play ; 


A  DONA  IS.  147 

For  some  must  watch,  while  some  must  sleep  — 
So  runs  the  world  away." 

Compare  also  with  Merchant  of  Venice ;  iv.  I :  — 

"  I  am  a  tainted  wether  of  the  flock, 
Meetest  for  death." 

Pansies  represent  thought  or  memory;  violets,  modesty;  cypress,  mourn- 
ing; ivy,  friendship. 

Stanza  XXXIV. 

3.  wept  his  own.  Was  this  a  prediction  of  Shelley's  own  early  death? 
Keats  died  at  the  age  of  twenty-five.  The  next  year  Shelley  was  drowned 
at  the  age  of  thirty.  The  latter  had  more  than  once  predicted  that  he 
would  die  young.  —  an  unknown  land.  A  land  unknown  to  the  Greek 
goddess  Urania  Aphrodite,  —  a  new  sorrow  to  her  also. 

9.  like  Cain's  or  Christ's.  Branded  like  Cain's,  —  the  mark  of 
reprobation;  bleeding  like  Christ's,  —  the  mark  of  persecution.  This  is 
a  possible  explanation  of  this  phrase,  but  it  is  hard  to  understand  Shelley's 
exact  meaning.  "The  coupling  together  of  the  names  of  Cain  and  Christ 
in  this  stanza,"  says  Rossetti,  "was  not  likely  to  conciliate  antagonists; 
and  indeed  one  may  safely  surmise  that  it  was  done  by  Shelley  more  for 
the  rather  wanton  purpose  of  exasperating  them  than  with  any  other 
object." 

Stanza  XXXV. 

1.  What  softer  voice.  John  Severn  was  the  only  one  of  Keats's 
friends  who  was  actually  present  at  the  death  of  Keats.  Were  it  not  for 
a  passage  in  Shelley's  Preface  to  this  poem  (quoted  on  page  136),  we 
would  suppose  that  Severn's  was  the  "softer  voice"  referred  to  here. 
The  stanza,  however,  doubtless  relates  to  Leigh  Hunt,  who,  although  far 
from  unfriendly  to  Keats,  was  certainly  not  the  ardent  teacher,  lover,  and 
admirer  of  the  dead  poet  that  he  is  here  represented  to  be. 

Stanza  XXXVI. 

1.  has  drunk  poison.  Compare  with  The  Lament  for  Bion,  line  19, 
page  43:  "Poison  came,  Bion,  to  thy  mouth,"  etc.  —  deaf  and  viperous 
murderer.     See  extract  from  Preface,  page  136,  above. 

Stanza  XXXVIII. 

5.  the  pure  spirit  shall  flow,  etc.  The  pantheistic  doctrine  that  all 
spiritual  existences  are  finally  reunited  with  universal  and  eternal  essence 
of  God.     As  an  opposite  theory,  read  In  Memoriam,  xlvi. 


148  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

Stanza  XXXIX. 

i.  he  is  not  dead.  See  Lycidas,  166.  Also  The  DolefUll  Lay  of 
Clorinda  —  the  passage  already  quoted  on  page  140,  above.  In  this  stanza, 
as  well  as  in  the  preceding,  we  find  the  statement  of  Shelley's  belief  regard- 
ing the  immortality  of  the  soul,  —  "a  belief,"  says  Todhunter,  "which  was 
a  faith  rather  than  a  creed."  A  few  passages  in  other  poems  of  his  give 
further  expression  to  the  same  idea.    See  his  lines,  To  William  Shelley  :  — 

"  Thy  little  footsteps  on  the  sands 
Of  a  remote  and  lonely  shore ; 
The  twinkling  of  thine  infant  hands, 
Where  now  the  worm  will  feed  no  more." 

Human  life  he  represents  as  a  dream.  The  state  which  we  call  death  is 
the  true  existence.  "We  decay  like  corpses  in  a  charnel  house."  But 
when  we  wake  from  this  "  mad  trance,"  we  shall  pass  to  the  more  sub- 
stantial state,  to  which  Adonais  (as  he  says  in  the  next  stanza)  has  already 
departed.  So  Plato,  Phcedot  59 :  "  Every  living  thing  comes  from  a  dead 
thing.  For  if  the  soul  exist  before  our  birth,  and  if  when  it  passes  into 
life  it  cannot  come  from  any  other  quarter  than  from  death  and  the  state 
of  the  dead,  it  is  inevitable  that  it  must  exist  after  we  are  dead,  since  it  is 

again  to  come  into  life." 

» 
Stanza  XLI. 

2.   young  Dawn.     See  stanza  XIV.,  above,  and  the  note  on  the  same. 

Stanza  XLII. 

1.  made  one  with  Nature.  This  is  a  statement,  in  another  form,  of 
the  pantheistic  conception  already  enlarged  upon  in  stanza  XXXVIII. 
Compare  again  with  In  Memoriam,  xlvi. 

4.  a  presence.  Compare  with  Wordsworth's  Intimations  of  Immor- 
talityt  viii.  13:  — 

"  Thou,  over  whom  thy  immortality 
Broods  like  the  day,  a  master  o'er  a  slave, 
A  presence  which  is  not  to  be  put  by." 

Stanza  XLV. 

1.  The  inheritors  of  unfulfilled  renown.  "We  are  to  understand 
(but  Shelley  is  too  great  a  master  to  formulate  it  in  words)  that  Keats, 
as  an  *  inheritor  of  unfulfilled  renown,'  —  i.e.  a  great  intellect  cut  off  by 
death  before  its  maturest  fruits  could  be  produced,  —  has  now  arrived 
among  his  compeers :  they  rise  from  their  thrones  to  welcome  him.     In 


ADONAIS.  149 

this  connection  Shelley  chooses  to  regard  Keats  as  still  a  living  spiritual 
personality  —  not  simply  as  *  made  one  with  Nature.'  "  —  Rossetti. 

3.  Chatterton.  Thomas  Chatterton  was  born  in  1752,  and  died  in 
1770,  aged  seventeen.     Wordsworth  refers  to  him  as  — 

"  the  marvellous  boy 
The  sleepless  soul  that  perished  in  his  pride." 

Resolution  and  Independence. 

And  Keats  addresses  him  thus :  — 

"  Thou  art  among  the  stars 
Of  highest  heaven  :  to  the  rolling  spheres 
Thou  sweetly  singest :  nought  thy  hymning  mars, 
Above  the  ingrate  world  and  human  fears." 

5.  Sidney.  Sir  Philip  Sidney  died  at  the  age  of  thirty-two.  See 
Spenser's  Astropkel,  page  5 1 ;   also  note  page  66. 

8.  Lucan.  Marcus  Annaeus  Lucanus,  commonly  called  Lucan,  was 
born  in  Spain,  A.D.  39;  he  was  compelled  to  drink  poison  in  65,  and  died, 
aged  twenty-six  years,  being  condemned  by  Nero  as  connected  with  the 
conspiracy  of  Piso. 

Stanza  XLVI. 

6.  yon  kingless  sphere,  etc.  The  inheritors  of  unfulfilled  renown 
are  speaking.  They  inform  Adonais  that  one  of  the  heavenly  spheres  has 
remained  kingless  until  now,  and  silent  alone  in  the  heaven  of  song,  wait- 
ing for  his  coming.  He  is  the  only  person  worthy  to  occupy  its  "  winged 
throne,"  the  only  one  who  can  wake  it  into  music.  The  beautiful  poetic 
idea  of  the  music  of  the  spheres  is  prominent  here.  It  was  Plato  who 
taught  that  a  siren  sits  on  each  planet,  carolling  a  song  of  her  own  which 
harmonizes  with  those  sung  by  the  other  seven.  Job  (xxxviii.  7)  speaks 
of  the  time  "  when  the  morning  stars  sang  together,  and  all  the  sons  of 
God  shouted  for  joy."     See  also  Shakespeare,  Merchant  of  Venice  v.  I. 

Stanza  XLVII. 

1.  Who  mourns  for  Adonais,  etc.  That  is,  let  any  one  who  mourns 
for  Adonais  come  forth  and  reason  upon  the  matter.  Let  him  consider 
the  magnitude  of  the  earth,  the  vastness  of  the  universe,  and  his  own 
insignificance.  But  let  him  not  entirely  lose  heart  in  this  contemplation, 
or  through  despair  be  "  lured  to  the  brink  "  between  life  and  death. 

Stanza  XLVIII. 

1.  Or  go  to  Rome.  The  address  is  still  to  the  mourner.  —  Oh,  not  of 
him.     He  is  occupying  his  celestial  sphere  in  company  with  the  other 


150  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

"  inheritors  of  unfulfilled  renown."     Only  his  body  and  our  joy  lie  buried 
at  Rome. 

Stanza  XLIX. 

7.  a  slope  of  green  access.  The  English  burying-ground  wherein 
Keats  was  interred,  and  where  soon  afterwards  the  ashes  of  Shelley  himself 
were  placed. 

Stanza  L. 

3.  one  keen  pyramid.  The  pyramid  or  tomb  of  Caius  Cestius,  near 
which  Keats  was  buried.  See  Preface  to  the  poem.  Of  Caius  Cestius, 
nothing  is  really  known  except  that  the  peculiar  pyramidal  monument 
known  by  his  name  was  erected  to  perpetuate  his  memory. 

7.  newer  band.  The  Protestants  for  whom  the  cemetery  was  set 
apart. 

Stanza  LI. 

1.  these  graves  are  all  too  young.  The  cemetery  had  been  but 
lately  established.  Rossetti  says :  "  No  doubt  Shelley  is  here  thinking  in 
especial  of  his  own  bitterly  mourned  infant  son  William,  buried  in  this 
ground  not  two  years  before."     See  quotation  on  stanza  XXXIX.,  above. 

Stanza  LII. 

1.  The  one.  The  universal  Mind,  the  Eternal  (stanza  XXXVIIL), 
Nature.  — the  many.  The  individuals,  the  human  beings,  who  are 
finally  "made  one  with  Nature." 

3.  Life,  like  a  dome,  etc.  This  is  a  beautiful  simile  which  will  repay 
careful  study. 

Stanza  LV. 

"  The  last  lines  of  Adonais  might  be  read  as  a  prophecy  of  his  own 
death  by  drowning.  The  frequent  recurrence  of  this  thought  in  his  poetry 
is,  to  say  the  least,  singular."  —  J.  A.  Symonds. 

"  The  concluding  stanzas  have  a  solemn  intensity  of  inspiration  which 
produces  a  sensation  of  awe  in  the  reader's  mind.  A  supernatural  power 
seems  really  and  sensibly  to  work  in  the  poet's  soul,  and  hurry  it  away  into 
unknown  regions  of  thought  which  words  cannot  illumine.  If  Shelley's 
spirit,  at  least,  be  not  an  immortal  thing,  life  must  be  a  mockery,  and  we 
mortals  indeed  the  fools  of  time."  —  John  Todhunter. 


IN  MEMORIAM 

A.  H.  H.  —  Obiit  MDCCCXXXIH 
By  Alfred  Tennyson 

1849 


The  poem  entitled  In  Memoriam  is  a  monument  erected  by  friendship 
to  the  memory  of  a  gifted  son  of  the  historian  Hallam.  It  is  divided  into 
a  number  of  cabinet-like  compartments,  which,  with  fine  and  delicate 
shades  of  difference,  exhibit  the  various  phases  through  which  the  bereaved 
spirit  passes  from  the  first  shock  of  despair,  dull,  hopeless  misery  and 
rebellion,  up  to  the  dawn  of  hope,  acquiescent  trust,  and  even  calm  hap- 
piness again.  In  the  meanwhile  many  a  question  has  been  solved,  which 
can  only  suggest  itself  when  suffering  forces  the  soul  to  front  the  realities 
of  our  mysterious  existence ;  such  as :  Is  there  indeed  a  life  to  come  ? 
And  if  there  is,  ivill  it  be  a  conscious  life  ?  Shall  I  know  that  myself? 
Will  there  be  mutual  recognition  ?  continuance  of  attachments  ?  Shall 
friend  meet  friend,  and  brother  brother,  as  friends  and  brothers  ?  Or, 
again  :  How  comes  it  that  one  so  gifted  was  taken  away  so  early,  in  the 
maturity  of  his  powers,  just  at  the  moment  when  they  seemed  about  to 
become  available  to  mankind?  What  means  all  this,  and  is  there  not 
something  wrong  ?  Is  the  law  of  Creation  love  indeed?  By  slow  degrees, 
all  these  doubts,  and  worse,  are  answered ;  not  as  a  philosopher  would 
answer  them,  nor  as  a  theologian,  or  a  metaphysician,  but  as  it  is  the 
duty  of  a  poet  to  reply,  by  intuitive  faculty,  in  strains  in  which  Imagi- 
nation predominates  over  Thought  and  Memory.  ...  To  a  coarser  class 
of  minds  In  Memoriam  appears  too  melancholy  :  one  long  monotone  of 
grief  It  is  simply  one  of  the  most  victorious  songs  that  ever  poet  chanted ; 
with  the  mysterious  undertone,  no  doubt,  of  sadness  which  belongs  to  all 
human  joy,  in  front  of  the  mysteries  of  death  and  sorroiv ;  but  that 
belongs  to  every  true  note  of  human  triumph  except  a  Bacchanalian  drink- 
ing song.  And  that  it  should  predominate  in  a  monumental  record  is 
not  particularly  unnatural.  —  F.  W.  Robertson. 


In  jWemortam* 

ARTHUR   HENRY   HALLAM. 
Obiit  mdcccxxxiii.. 

Strong  Son  of  God,  immortal  Love 

Whom  we,  that  have  not  seen  thy  face, 
By  faith,  and  faith  alone,  embrace, 

Believing  where  we  cannot  prove; 

Thine  are  these  orbs  of  light  and  shade; 

Thou  madest  Life  in  man  and  brute; 

Thou  madest  Death;   and  lo,  thy  foot 
Is  on  the  skull  which  thou  hast  made. 

Thou  wilt  not  leave  us  in  the  dust : 
Thou  madest  man,  he  knows  not  why; 
He  thinks  he  was  not  made  to  die; 

And  thou  hast  made  him :  thou  art  just. 

Thou  seemest  human  and  divine, 
The  highest,  holiest  manhood,  thou : 
Our  wills  are  ours,  we  know  not  how; 

Our  wills  are  ours  to  make  them  thine. 

Our  little  systems  have  their  day; 

They  have  their  day  and  cease  to  be : 
They  are  but  broken  lights  of  thee, 

And  thou,  O  Lord,  art  more  than  they. 

153 


154  THE  BOOK  OF  ELEGIES. 

We  have  but  faith :  we  cannot  know : 
For  knowledge  is  of  things  we  see; 
And  yet  we  trust  it  comes  from  thee, 

A  beam  in  darkness :  let  it  grow. 

Let  knowledge  grow  from  more  to  more, 
But  more  of  reverence  in  us  dwell; 
That  mind  and  soul,  according  well, 

May  make  one  music  as  before, 

But  vaster.     We  are  fools  and  slight; 
We  mock  thee  when  we  do  not  fear : 
But  help  thy  foolish  ones  to  bear; 

Help  thy  vain  worlds  to  bear  thy  light. 

Forgive  what  seemed  my  sin  in  me; 

What  seemed  my  worth  since  I  began; 

For  merit  lives  from  man  to  man, 
And  not  from  man,  O  Lord,  to  thee. 

Forgive  my  grief  for  one  removed, 
Thy  creature,  whom  I  found  so  fair. 
I  trust  he  lives  in  thee,  and  there 

I  find  him  worthier  to  be  loved. 

Forgive  these  wild  and  wandering  cries, 
Confusions  of  a  wasted  youth; 
Forgive  them  where  they  fail  in  truth, 

And  in  thy  wisdom  make  me  wise. 
1849. 


I  held  it  truth,  with  him  who  sings 
To  one  clear  harp  in  divers  tones, 
That  men  may  rise  on  stepping-stones 

Of  their  dead  selves  to  higher  things. 

But  who  shall  so  forecast  the  years 
And  find  in  loss  a  gain  to  match  ? 


IN  MEMORIAM.  155 

Or  reach  a  hand  thro'  time  to  catch 
The  far-off  interest  of  tears  ? 

Let  Love  clasp  Grief  lest  both  be  drowned, 
Let  darkness  keep  her  raven  gloss : 
Ah,  sweeter  to  be  drunk  with  loss, 

To  dance  with  death,  to  beat  the  ground, 

Than  that  the  victor  Hours  should  scorn 
The  long  result  of  love,  and  boast, 
"  Behold  the  man  that  loved  and  lost, 

But  all  he  was  is  overworn." 

ii. 

Old  Yew,  which  graspest  at  the  stones 
That  name  the  under-lying  dead, 
Thy  fibres  net  the  dreamless  head, 

Thy  roots  are  wrapt  about  the  bones. 

The  seasons  bring  the  flower  again, 
And  bring  the  firstling  to  the  flock ; 
And  in  the  dusk  of  thee,  the  clock 

Beats  out  the  little  lives  of  men. 

O  not  for  thee  the  glow,  the  bloom, 

Who  changest  not  in  any  gale, 

Nor  branding  summer  suns  avail 
To  touch  thy  thousand  years  of  gloom : 

And  gazing  on  thee,  sullen  tree, 

Sick  for  thy  stubborn  hardihood, 

I  seem  to  fail  from  out  my  blood 
And  grow  incorporate  into  thee. 


156  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

III. 

O  Sorrow,  cruel  fellowship, 

O  Priestess  in  the  vaults  of  Death, 

0  sweet  and  bitter  in  a  breath, 
What  whispers  from  thy  lying  lip  ? 

"The  stars,"  she  whispers,  "blindly  run; 

A  web  is  wov'n  across  the  sky ; 

From  out  waste  places  comes  a  cry, 
And  murmurs  from  the  dying  sun : 

"  And  all  the  phantom,  Nature  stands  — 
With  all  the  music  in  her  tone, 
A  hollow  echo  of  my  own,  — 

A  hollow  form  with  empty  hands." 

And  shall  I  take  a  thing  so  blind, 
Embrace  her  as  my  natural  good ; 
Or  crush  her,  like  a  vice  of  blood,  . 

Upon  the  threshold  of  the  mind  ? 

IV. 

To  Sleep  I  give  my  powers  away ; 
My  will  is  bondsman  to  the  dark ; 

1  sit  within  a  helmless  bark, 
And  with  my  heart  I  muse  and  say : 

O  heart,  how  fares  it  with  thee  now, 
That  thou  shouldst  fail  from  thy  desire, 
Who  scarcely  darest  to  inquire, 

"  What  is  it  makes  me  beat  so  low  ?  " 

Something  it  is  which  thou  hast  lost, 
Some  pleasure  from  thine  early  years. 


IN  MEMORIAM.  157 

Break,  thou  deep  vase  of  chilling  tears, 
That  grief  hath  shaken  into  frost ! 

Such  clouds  of  nameless  trouble  cross 
All  night  below  the  darkened  eyes : 
With  morning  wakes  the  will,  and  cries, 

"Thou  shalt  not  be  the  fool  of  loss." 

v. 

I  sometimes  hold  it  half  a  sin 

To  put  in  words  the  grief  I  feel ; 

For  words,  like  Nature,  half  reveal 
And  half  conceal  the  Soul  within. 

But,  for  the  unquiet  heart  and  brain, 

A  use  in  measured  language  lies ; 

The  sad  mechanic  exercise, 
Like  dull  narcotics,  numbing  pain. 

In  words,  like  weeds,  I'll  wrap  me  o'er, 
Like  coarsest  clothes  against  the  cold ; 
But  that  large  grief  which  these  enfold 

Is  given  in  outline  and  no  more. 

VI. 

One  writes,  that  "  Other  friends  remain," 
That  "  Loss  is  common  to  the  race,"  — 
And  common  is  the  commonplace, 

And  vacant  chaff  well  meant  for  grain. 

That  loss  is  common  would  not  make 
My  own  less  bitter,  rather  more : 
Too  common  !     Never  morning  wore 

To  evening,  but  some  heart  did  break. 


158  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

O  father,  wheresoe'er  thou  be, 

Who  pledgest  now  thy  gallant  son ; 
A  shot,  ere  half  thy  draught  be  done, 

Hath  still'd  the  life  that  beat  from  thee. 

O  mother,  praying  God  will  save 

Thy  sailor,  —  while  thy  head  is  bowed, 
His  heavy-shotted  hammock-shroud, 

Drops  in  his  vast  and  wandering  grave. 

Ye  know  no  more  than  I  who  wrought 
At  that  last  hour  to  please  him  well ; 
Who  mused  on  all  I  had  to  tell, 

And  something  written,  something  thought ; 

Expecting  still  his  advent  home ; 
And  ever  met  him  on  his  way 
With  wishes,  thinking,  here  to-day, 

Or  here  to-morrow  will  he  come. 

Oh,  somewhere,  meek  unconscious  dove, 
That  sittest  ranging  golden  hair; 
And  glad  to  find  thyself  so  fair, 

Poor  child,  that  waitest  for  thy  love ! 

For  now  her  father's  chimney  glows 

In  expectation  of  a  guest ; 

And  thinking,  "  This  will  please  him  best," 
She  takes  a  ribbon  or  a  rose ; 

For  he  will  see  them  on  to-night ; 

And  with  the  thought  her  color  burns ; 

And,  having  left  the  glass,  she  turns 
Once  more  to  set  a  ringlet  right; 


IN  MEMORIAM.  159 

And,  even  when  she  turned,  the  curse 
Had  fallen,  and  her  future  lord 
Was  drowned  in  passing  thro'  the  ford, 

Or  killed  in  falling  from  his  horse. 

O  what  to  her  shall  be  the  end  ? 

And  what  to  me  remains  of  good  ? 

To  her,  perpetual  maidenhood, 
And  unto  me  no  second  friend. 

VII. 

Dark  house,  by  which  once  more  I  stand 
Here  in  the  long  unlovely  street, 
Doors,  where  my  heart  was  used  to  beat 

So  quickly,  waiting  for  a  hand, 

A  hand  that  can  be  clasped  no  more, — 

Behold  me,  for  I  cannot  sleep, 

And  like  a  guilty  thing  I  creep 
At  earliest  morning  to  the  door. 

He  is  not  here ;  but  far  away 
The  noise  of  life  begins  again, 
And  ghastly  thro'  the  drizzling  rain 

On  the  bald  street  breaks  the  blank  day. 

VIII. 

A  happy  lover  who  has  come 

To  look  on  her  that  loves  him  well, 
Who  'lights  and  rings  the  gateway  bell, 

And  learns  her  gone  and  far  from  home ; 

He  saddens,  all  the  magic  light 

Dies  off  at  once  from  bower  and  hall, 


160  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

And  all  the  place  is  dark,  and  all 
The  chambers  emptied  of  delight : 

So  find  I  every  pleasant  spot 

In  which  we  two  were  wont  to  meet, 
The  field,  the  chamber,  and  the  street, 

For  all  is  dark  where  thou  art  not. 

Yet  as  that  other,  wandering  there 
In  those  deserted  walks,  may  find 
A  flower  beat  with  rain  and  wind, 

Which  once  she  fostered  up  with  care ; 

So  seems  it  in  my  deep  regret, 

0  my  forsaken  heart,  with  thee 
And  this  poor  flower  of  poesy 

Which  little  cared  for  fades  not  yet. 

But  since  it  pleased  a  vanished  eye, 

1  go  to  plant  it  on  his  tomb, 
That  if  it  can  it  there  may  bloom, 

Or  dying,  there  a.t  least  may  die. 

IX. 

Fair  ship,  that  from  the  Italian  shore 
Sailest  the  placid  ocean-plains 
With  my  lost  Arthur's  loved  remains, 

Spread  thy  full  wings,  and  waft  him  o'er. 

So  draw  him  home  to  those  that  mourn 
In  vain ;  a  favorable  speed 
Ruffle  thy  mirrored  mast,  and  lead 

Thro'  prosperous  floods  his  holy  urn. 


IN  MEMORIAM.  161 

All  night  no  ruder  air  perplex 

Thy  sliding  keel,  till  Phosphor,  bright 
As  our  pure  love,  thro'  early  light 

Shall  glimmer  on  the  dewy  decks. 

Sphere  all  your  lights  around,  above ; 

Sleep,  gentle  heavens,  before  the  prow ; 

Sleep,  gentle  winds,  as  he  sleeps  now, 
My  friend,  the  brother  of  my  love ; 

My  Arthur,  whom  I  shall  not  see 

Till  all  my  widowed  race  be  run ; 

Dear  as  the  mother  to  the  son, 
More  than  my  brothers  are  to  me. 

x. 

I  hear  the  noise  about  thy  keel ; 

I  hear  the  bell  struck  in  the  night ; 

I  see  the  cabin-window  bright ; 
I  see  the  sailor  at  the  wheel. 

Thou  bringest  the  sailor  to  his  wife, 
And  travelled  men  from  foreign  lands ; 
And  letters  unto  trembling  hands ; 

And,  thy  dark  freight,  a  vanished  life. 

So  bring  him  :  we  have  idle  dreams  : 

This  look  of  quiet  flatters  thus 

Our  home-bred  fancies :  oh  to  us, 
The  fools  of  habit,  sweeter  seems 

To  rest  beneath  the  clover  sod, 

That  takes  the  sunshine  and  the  rains, 
Or  where  the  kneeling  hamlet  drains 

The  chalice  of  the  grapes  of  God ; 


162  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

Than  if  with  thee  the  roaring  wells 
Should  gulf  him  fathom-deep  in  brine ; 
And  hands  so  often  clasped  in  mine, 

Should  toss  with  tangle  and  with  shells. 

XI. 

Calm  is  the  morn  without  a  sound, 
Calm  as  to  suit  a  calmer  grief, 
And  only  thro'  the  faded  leaf 

The  chestnut  pattering  to  the  ground : 

Calm  and  deep  peace  on  this  high  wold, 
And  on  these  dews  that  drench  the  furze, 
And  all  the  silvery  gossamers 

That  twinkle  into  green  and  gold : 

Calm  and  still  light  on  yon  great  plain 
That  sweeps  with  all  its  autumn  bowers, 
And  crowded  farms  and  lessening  towers, 

To  mingle  with  the  bounding  main : 

Calm  and  deep  peace  in  this  wide  air, 
These  leaves  that  redden  to  the  fall ; 
And  in  my  heart,  if  calm  at  all, 

If  any  calm,  a  calm  despair : 

Calm  on  the  seas,  and  silver  sleep, 

And  waves  that  sway  themselves  in  rest, 
And  dead  calm  in  that  noble  breast 

Which  heaves  but  with  the  heaving  deep. 

XII. 

Lo  as  a  dove  when  up  she  springs 
To  bear  thro'  heaven  a  tale  of  woe, 


IN  MEMORIAM.  163 

Some  dolorous  message  knit  below 
The  wild  pulsation  of  her  wings ; 

Like  her  I  go ;  I  cannot  stay ; 
I  leave  this  mortal  ark  behind, 
A  weight  of  nerves  without  a  mind, 

And  leave  the  cliffs,  and  haste  away 

O'er  ocean-mirrors  rounded  large, 

And  reach  the  glow  of  southern  skies, 
And  see  the  sails  at  distance  rise, 

And  linger  weeping  on  the  marge, 

And  saying  :  "  Comes  he  thus,  my  friend  ? 

Is  this  the  end  of  all  my  care  ? " 

And  circle  moaning  in  the  air : 
"  Is  this  the  end  ?     Is  this  the  end  ?  " 

And  forward  dart  again,  and.  play 
About  the  prow,  and  back  return 
To  where  the  body  sits,  and  learn, 

That  I  have  been  an  hour  away. 

XIII. 

Tears  of  the  widower,  when  he  sees 
A  late-lost  form  that  sleep  reveals, 
And  moves  his  doubtful  arms,  and  feels 

Her  place  is  empty,  fall  like  these ; 

Which  weep  a  loss  forever  new, 

A  void  where  heart  on  heart  reposed ; 

And,  where  warm  hands  have  prest  and  closed, 

Silence,  till  I  be  silent  too. 


164  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

Which  weep  the  comrade  of  my  choice, 
An  awful  thought,  a  life  removed, 
The  human-hearted  man  I  loved, 

A  Spirit,  not  a  breathing  voice. 

Come  Time,  and  teach  me,  many  years, 

I  do  not  suffer  in  a  dream ; 

For  now  so  strange  do  these  things  seem, 
Mine  eyes  have  leisure  for  their  tears ; 

My  fancies  time  to  rise  on  wing, 

And  glance  about  the  approaching  sails, 
As  tho'  they  brought  but  merchants'  bales, 

And  not  the  burden  that  they  bring. 

XIV. 

If  one  should  bring  me  this  report, 

That  thou  hadst  touched  the  land  to-day, 
And  I  went  down  unto  the  quay, 

And  found  thee  lying  in  the  port; 

And  standing,  muffled  round  with  woe, 
Should  see  thy  passengers  in  rank 
Come  stepping  lightly  down  the  plank, 

And  beckoning  unto  those  they  know ; 

And  if  along  with  these  should  come 
The  man  I  held  as  half-divine  ; 
Should  strike  a  sudden  hand  in  mine, 

And  ask  a  thousand  things  of  home ; 

And  I  should  tell  him  all  my  pain, 
And  how  my  life  had  drooped  of  late, 
And  he  should  sorrow  o'er  my  state 

And  marvel  what  possessed  my  brain ; 


IN  MEMORIAM.  165 

And  I  perceived  no  touch  of  change, 

No  hint  of  death  in  all  his  frame, 

But  found  him  all  in  all  the  same, 
I  should  not  feel  it  to  be  strange. 

xv. 

To-night  the  winds  begin  to  rise 

And  roar  from  yonder  dropping  day ; 
The  last  red  leaf  is  whirled  away, 

The  rooks  are  blown  about  the  skies ; 

The  forest  cracked,  the  waters  curled, 

The  cattle  huddled  on  the  lea ; 

And  wildly  dashed  on  tower  and  tree 
The  sunbeam  strikes  along  the  world : 

And  but  for  fancies,  which  aver 

That  all  thy  motions  gently  pass 

Athwart  a  plane  of  molten  glass, 
I  scarce  could  brook  the  strain  and  stir 

That  makes  the  barren  branches  loud ; 

And  but  for  fear  it  is  not  so, 

The  wild  unrest  that  lives  in  woe 
Would  dote  and  pore  on  yonder  cloud 

That  rises  upward  always  higher, 
And  onward  drags  a  laboring  breast, 
And  topples  round  the  dreary  west, 

A  looming  bastion  fringed  with  fire. 

XVI. 

What  words  are  these  have  fall'n  from  me  ? 
Can  calm  despair  and  wild  unrest 


166  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES, 

Be  tenants  of  a  single  breast, 
Or  sorrow  such  a  changeling  be  ? 

Or  doth  she  only  seem  to  take 

The  touch  of  change  in  calm  or  storm ; 
But  knows  no  more  of  transient  form 

In  her  deep  self,  than  some  dead  lake 

That  holds  the  shadow  of  a  lark 
Hung  in  the  shadow  of  a  heaven  ? 
Or  has  the  shock,  so  harshly  given, 

Confused  me  like  the  unhappy  bark 

That  strikes  by  night  a  craggy  shelf, 
And  staggers  blindly  ere  she  sink  ? 
And  stunned  me  from  my  power  to  think 

And  all  my  knowledge  of  myself ; 

And  made  me  that  delirious  man 
Whose  fancy  fuses  old  and  new, 
And  flashes  into  false  and  true, 

And  mingles  all  without  a  plan  ? 

XVII. 

Thou  comest,  much  wept  for  :  such  a  breeze 
Compelled  thy  canvas,  and  my  prayer 
Was  as  the  whisper  of  an  air 

To  breathe  thee  over  lonely  seas. 

For  I  in  spirit  saw  thee  move 

Thro'  circles  of  the  bounding  sky, 
Week  after  week  :  the  days  go  by : 

Come  quick,  thou  bringest  all  I  love. 


IN  MEMORIAM.  167 

Henceforth,  wherever  thou  may'st  roam, 

My  blessing,  like  a  line  of  light, 

Is  on  the  waters  day  and  night, 
And  like  a  beacon  guards  thee  home. 

So  may  whatever  tempest  mars 

Mid-ocean,  spare  thee,  sacred  bark ; 
And  balmy  drops  in  summer  dark 

Slide  from  the  bosom  of  the  stars. 

So  kind  an  office  hath  been  done, 

Such  precious  relics  brought  by  thee ; 
The  dust  of  him  I  shall  not  see 

Till  all  my  widowed  race  be  run. 

XVIII. 

'Tis  well ;  'tis  something  ;  we  may  stand 
Where  he  in  English  earth  is  laid, 
And  from  his  ashes  may  be  made 

The  violet  of  his  native  land. 

Tis  little  ;  but  it  looks  in  truth 

As  if  the  quiet  bones  were  blest 

Among  familiar  names  to  rest 
And  in  the  places  of  his  youth. 

Come  then,  pure  hands,  and  bear  the  head 
That  sleeps  or  wears  the  mask  of  sleep, 
And  come,  whatever  loves  to  weep, 

And  hear  the  ritual  of  the  dead. 

Ah  yet,  ev'n  yet,  if  this  might  be, 
I,  falling  on  his  faithful  heart, 
Would  breathing  thro'  his  lips  impart 

The  life  that  almost  dies  in  me  ; 


168  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

That  dies  not,  but  endures  with  pain, 
And  slowly  forms  the  firmer  mind, 
Treasuring  the  look  it  cannot  find, 

The  words  that  are  not  heard  again. 

XIX. 

The  Danube  to  the  Severn  gave 

The  darkened  heart  that  beat  no  more ; 
They  laid  him  by  the  pleasant  shore, 

And  in  the  hearing  of  the  wave. 

There  twice  a  day  the  Severn  fills ; 
The  salt  sea-water  passes  by, 
And  hushes  half  the  babbling  Wye, 

And  makes  a  silence  in  the  hills. 

The  Wye  is  hushed  nor  moved  along, 
And  hushed  my  deepest  grief  of  all, 
When  filled  with  tears  that  cannot  fall, 

I  brim  with  sorrow  drowning  song. 

The  tide  flows  down,  the  wave  again 
Is  vocal  in  its  wooded  walls ; 
My  deeper  anguish  also  falls, 

And  I  can  speak  a  little  then. 

xx. 

The  lesser  griefs  that  may  be  said, 
That  breathe  a  thousand  tender  vows, 
And  but  as  servants  in  a  house 

Where  lies  the  master  newly  dead  ; 

Who  speak  their  feeling  as  it  is, 

And  weep  the  fulness  from  the  mind : 


IN  MEMORIAM.  169 

"  It  will  be  hard,"  they  say,  "to  find 
Another  service  such  as  this." 

My  lighter  moods  are  like  to  these, 

That  out  of  words  a  comfort  win  ; 

But  there  are  other  griefs  within, 
And  tears  that  at  their  fountain  freeze. 

For  by  the  hearth  the  children  sit 
Cold  in  that  atmosphere  of  Death, 
And  scarce  endure  to  draw  the  breath, 

Or  like  to  noiseless  phantoms  flit : 

But  open  converse  there  is  none, 
So  much  the  vital  spirits  sink 
To  see  the  vacant  chair,  and  think, 

11  How  good  !  how  kind  !  and  he  is  gone." 

XXI. 

I  sing  to  him  that  rests  below, 

And,  since  the  grasses  round  me  wave, 
I  take  the  grasses  of  the  grave, 

And  make  them  pipes  whereon  to  blow. 

The  traveller  hears  me  now  and  then, 
And  sometimes  harshly  will  he  speak : 
"  This  fellow  would  make  weakness  weak, 

And  melt  the  waxen  hearts  of  men." 

Another  answers,  "  Let  him  be, 

He  loves  to  make  parade  of  pain, 

That  with  his  piping  he  may  gain 
The  praise  that  comes  to  constancy." 


170  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

A  third  is  wroth,  "  Is  this  an  hour 
For  private  sorrow's  barren  song, 
When  more  and  more  the  people  throng 

The  chairs  and  thrones  of  civil  power  ? 

"  A  time  to  sicken  and  to  swoon, 

When  Science  reaches  forth  her  arms 
To  feel  from  world  to  world,  and  charms 

Her  secret  from  the  latest  moon  ?  " 

Behold,  ye  speak  an  idle  thing : 
Ye  never  knew  the  sacred  dust  : 
I  do  but  sing  because  I  must, 

And  pipe  but  as  the  linnets  sing : 

And  one  is  glad  ;  her  note  is  gay, 
For  now  her  little  ones  have  ranged ; 
And  one  is  sad ;  her  note  is  changed, 

Because  her  brood  is  stol'n  away. 

XXIL 

The  path  by  which  we  twain  did  go, 

Which  led  by  tracts  that  pleased  us  well, 
Thro'  four  sweet  years  arose  and  fell, 

From  flower  to  flower,  from  snow  to  snow : 

And  we  with  singing  cheered  the  way, 
And,  crowned  with  all  the  season  lent, 
From  April  on  to  April  went, 

And  glad  at  heart  from  May  to  May : 

But  where  the  path  we  walked  began 
To  slant  the  fifth  autumnal  slope, 
As  we  descended  following  Hope, 

There  sat  the  Shadow  feared  of  man ; 


IN  MEMORIAM.  171 

Who  broke  our  fair  companionship, 
And  spread  his  mantle  dark  and  cold, 
And  wrapt  thee  formless  in  the  fold, 

And  dulled  the  murmur  on  thy  lip, 

And  bore  thee  where  I  could  not  see 
Nor  follow,  tho'  I  walk  in  haste, 
And  think,  that  somewhere  in  the  waste 

The  Shadow  sits  and  waits  for  me. 

XXIII. 

Now,  sometimes  in  my  sorrow  shut, 

Or  breaking  into  song  by  fits, 

Alone,  alone,  to  where  he  sits, 
The  Shadow  cloaked  from  head  to  foot, 

Who  keeps  the  keys  of  all  the  creeds, 
I  wander,  often  falling  lame, 
And  looking  back  to  whence  I  came, 

Or  on  to  where  the  pathway  leads ; 

And  crying  :  "  How  changed  from  where  it  ran 
Thro'  lands  where  not  a  leaf  was  dumb  : 
But  all  the  lavish  hills  would  hum 

The  murmur  of  a  happy  Pan  : 

"  When  each  by  turns  was  guide  to  each, 
And  Fancy  light  from  Fancy  caught, 
And  Thought  leapt  out  to  wed  with  Thought 

Ere  Thought  could  wed  itself  with  Speech ; 

"  And  all  we  met  was  fair  and  good, 

And  all  was  good  that  Time  could  bring, 
And  all  the  secret  of  the  Spring 

Moved  in  the  chambers  of  the  blood ; 


172  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

"  And  many  an  old  philosophy 
On  Argive  heights  divinely  sang, 
And  round  us  all  the  thicket  rang 

To  many  a  flute  of  Arcady." 

XXIV. 

And  was  the  day  of  my  delight 
As  pure  and  perfect  as  I  say  ? 
The  very  source  and  fount  of  day 

Is  dash'd  with  wandering  isles  of  night. 

If  all  was  good  and  fair  we  met, 
This  earth  had  been  the  paradise 
It  never  looked  to  human  eyes 

Since  Adam  left  his  garden  yet. 

And  is  it  that  the  haze  of  grief 

Makes  former  gladness  loom  so  great  ? 
To  lowness  of  the  present  state, 

That  sets  the  past  in  this  relief  ? 

Or  that  the  past  will  always  win 
A  glory  from  its  being  far ; 
And  orb  into  the  perfect  star 

We  saw  not,  when  we  moved  therein  ? 

xxv. 

I  know  that  this  was  life  —  the  track 
Whereon  with  equal  feet  we  fared ; 
And  then,  as  now,  the  day  prepared 

The  daily  burden  for  the  back. 

But  this  it  was  that  made  me  move 
As  light  as  carrier-birds  in  air ; 


IN  MEMORIAM.  173 

I  loved  the  weight  I  had  to  bear, 
Because  it  needed  help  of  Love : 

Nor  could  I  weary,  heart  or  limb, 

When  mighty  Love  would  cleave  in  twain 
The  lading  of  a  single  pain, 

And  part  it,  giving  half  to  him. 

XXVI. 

Still  onward  winds  the  dreary  way ; 
I  with  it ;  for  I  long  to  prove 
No  lapse  of  moons  can  canker  Love, 

Whatever  fickle  tongues  may  say. 

And  if  that  eye  which  watches  guilt 
And  goodness,  and  hath  power  to  see 
Within  the  green  the  mouldered  tree, 

And  towers  fall'n  as  soon  as  built  — 

Oh,  if  indeed  that  eye  foresee 

Or  see  (in  Him  is  no  before) 

In  more  of  life  true  life  no  more, 
And  Love  the  indifference  to  be, 

Then  might  I  find,  ere  yet  the  morn 
Breaks  hither  over  Indian  seas, 
That  Shadow  waiting  with  the  keys, 

To  shroud  me  from  my  proper  scorn. 

XXVII. 

I  envy  not  in  any  moods 

The  captive  void  of  noble  rage, 

The  linnet  born  within  the  cage, 
That  never  knew  the  summer  woods : 


174  THE  BOOK  OF  ELEGIES. 

I  envy  not  the  beast  that  takes 
His  license  in  the  field  of  time, 
Unfettered  by  the  sense  of  crime, 

To  whom  a  conscience  never  wakes ; 

Nor,  what  may  count  itself  as  blest, 
The  heart  that  never  plighted  troth, 
But  stagnates  in  the  weeds  of  sloth ; 

Nor  any  want-begotten  rest. 

I  hold  it  true,  whate'er  befall ; 

I  feel  it,  when  I  sorrow  most ; 

'Tis  better  to  have  loved  and  lost 
Than  never  to  have  loved  at  all. 

XXVIII. 

The  time  draws  near  the  birth  of  Christ : 
The  moon  is  hid ;  the  night  is  still ; 
The  Christmas  bells  from  hill  to  hill 

Answer  each  other  in  the  mist. 

Four  voices  of  four  hamlets  round, 

From  far  and  near,  on  mead  and  moor, 
Swell  out  and  fail,  as  if  a  door 

Were  shut  between  me  and  the  sound : 

Each  voice  four  changes  on  the  wind, 
That  now  dilate,  and  now  decrease, 
Peace  and  good-will,  good-will  and  peace, 

Peace  and  good-will,  to  all  mankind. 

This  year  I  slept  and  woke  with  pain, 
I  almost  wished  no  more  to  wake, 
And  that  my  hold  on  life  would  break 

Before  I  heard  those  bells  again : 


IN  MEMORIAM.  175 

But  they  my  troubled  spirit  rule, 

For  they  controlled  me  when  a  boy ; 
They  bring  me  sorrow  touched  with  joy, 

The  merry,  merry  bells  of  Yule. 

XXIX. 

With  such  compelling  cause  to  grieve 

As  daily  vexes  household  peace, 

And  chains  regret  to  his  decease, 
How  dare  we  keep  our  Christmas-eve ; 

Which  brings  no  more  a  welcome  guest 
To  enrich  the  threshold  of  the  night 
With  showered  largess  of  delight, 

In  dance  and  song  and  game  and  jest. 

Yet  go,  and  while  the  holly  boughs 
Entwine  the  cold  baptismal  font, 
Make  one  wreath  more  for  Use  and  Wont, 

That  guard  the  portals  of  the  house ; 

Old  sisters  of  a  day  gone  by, 

Gray  nurses,  loving  nothing  new; 

Why  should  they  miss  their  yearly  due 
Before  their  time  ?     They  too  will  die. 


XXX. 

With  trembling  fingers  did  we  weave 
The  holly  round  the  Christmas  hearth ; 
A  rainy  cloud  possessed  the  earth, 

And  sadly  fell  our  Christmas-eve. 


176  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

At  our  old  pastimes  in  the  hall 

We  gambolled,  making  vain  pretence 
Of  gladness,  with  an  awful  sense 

Of  one  mute  shadow  watching  all. 

We  paused :  the  winds  were  in  the  beech : 
We  heard  them  sweep  the  winter  land ; 
And  in  a  circle  hand-in-hand 

Sat  silent,  looking  each  at  each. 

Then  echo-like  our  voices  rang ; 
We  sung,  tho'  every  eye  was  dim, 
A  merry  song  we  sang  with  him 

Last  year :  impetuously  we  sang : 

We  ceased  :  a  gentler  feeling  crept 

Upon  us  :  surely  rest  is  meet : 

"  They  rest,"  we  said,  "  their  sleep  is  sweet," 
And  silence  followed,  and  we  wept. 

Our  voices  took  a  higher  range ; 

Once  more  we  sang :  "  They  do  not  die 
Nor  lose  their  mortal  sympathy, 

Nor  change  to  us,  although  they  change ; 

"  Rapt  from  the  fickle  and  the  frail 
With  gathered  power,  yet  the  same, 
Pierces  the  keen  seraphic  flame 

From  orb  to  orb,  from  veil  to  veil." 

Rise,  happy  morn,  rise,  holy  morn, 

Draw  forth  the  cheerful  day  from  night : 
O  Father,  touch  the  east,  and  light 

The  light  that  shone  when  Hope  was  born. 


IN  MEMORIAM.  177 

XXXI. 

When  Lazarus  left  his  charnel-cave, 
And  home  to  Mary's  house  returned, 
Was  this  demanded,  if  he  yearned 

To  hear  her  weeping  by  his  grave  ? 

"  Where  wert  thou,  brother,  those  four  days  ?  " 

There  lives  no  record  of  reply, 

Which  telling  what  it  is  to  die 
Had  surely  added  praise  to  praise. 

From  every  house  the  neighbors  met, 
The  streets  were  filled  with  joyful  sound, 
A  solemn  gladness  even  crowned 

The  purple  brows  of  Olivet. 

Behold  a  man  raised  up  by  Christ ! 

The  rest  remaineth  unrevealed ; 

He  told  it  not ;  or  something  sealed 
The  lips  of  that  Evangelist. 

XXXII. 

Her  eyes  are  homes  of  silent  prayer, 
Nor  other  thought  her  mind  admits 
But,  he  was  dead,  and  there  he  sits, 

And  he  that  brought  him  back  is  there. 

Then  one  deep  love  doth  supersede 
All  other,  when  her  ardent  gaze 
Roves  from  the  living  brother's  face, 

And  rests  upon  the  Life  indeed. 

All  subtle  thought,  all  curious  fears, 
Borne  down  by  gladness  so  complete, 


178  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

She  bows,  she  bathes  the  Saviour's  feet 
With  costly  spikenard  and  with  tears. 

Thrice  blest  whose  lives  are  faithful  prayers, 
Whose  loves  in  higher  love  endure  ; 
What  souls  possess  themselves  so  pure, 

Or  is  there  blessedness  like  theirs  ? 

XXXIII. 

O  thou  that  after  toil  and  storm 

Mayst  seem  to  have  reached  a  purer  air, 
Whose  faith  has  centre  everywhere, 

Nor  cares  to  fix  itself  to  form, 

Leave  thou  thy  sister  when  she  prays, 
Her  early  Heaven,  her  happy  views ; 
Nor  thou  with  shadowed  hint  confuse 

A  life  that  leads  melodious  days. 

Her  faith  thro'  form  is  pure  as  thine, 
Her  hands  are  quicker  unto  good : 
Oh,  sacred  be  the  flesh  and  blood 

To  which  she  links  a  truth  divine ! 

See  thou,  that  countest  reason  ripe 
In  holding  by  the  law  within, 
Thou  fail  not  in  a  world  of  sin, 

And  ev'n  for  want  of  such  a  type. 

xxxiv. 

My  own  dim  life  should  teach  me  this, 
That  life  shall  live  for  evermore, 
Else  earth  is  darkness  at  the  core, 

And  dust  and  ashes  all  that  is ; 


IN  MEMORIAM.  179 

This  round  of  green,  this  orb  of  flame, 

Fantastic  beauty ;  such  as  lurks 

In  some  wild  poet,  when  he  works 
Without  a  conscience  or  an  aim. 

What  then  were  God  to  such  as  I  ? 

'Twere  hardly  worth  my  while  to  choose 

Of  things  all  mortal,  or  to  use 
A  little  patience  ere  I  die ; 

'Twere  best  at  once  to  sink  to  peace, 
Like  birds  the  charming  serpent  draws, 
To  drop  head-foremost  in  the  jaws 

Of  vacant  darkness  and  to  cease. 

XXXV. 

Yet  if  some  voice  that  man  could  trust 
Should  murmur  from  the  narrow  house, 
"  The  cheeks  drop  in  ;  the  body  bows ; 

Man  dies ;  nor  is  there  hope  in  dust :  " 

Might  I  not  say  ?  "  Yet  even  here, 

But  for  one  hour,  O  Love,  I  strive 

To  keep  so  sweet  a  thing  alive  ? " 
But  I  should  turn  mine  ears  and  hear 

The  moanings  of  the  homeless  sea, 

The  sound  of  streams  that  swift  or  slow 
Draw  down  Ionian  hills,  and  sow 

The  dust  of  continents  to  be  ; 

And  Love  would  answer  with  a  sigh, 
"  The  sound  of  that  forgetful  shore 
Will  change  my  sweetness  more  and  more, 

Half-dead  to  know  that  I  shall  die." 


180  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES, 

O  me  !  what  profits  it  to  put 

An  idle  case  ?     If  Death  were  seen 
At  first  as  Death,  Love  had  not  been, 

Or  been  in  narrowest  working  shut, 

Mere  fellowship  of  sluggish  moods, 

Or  in  his  coarsest  Satyr-shape 

Had  bruised  the  herb  and  crushed  the  grape, 
And  basked  and  battened  in  the  woods. 

xxxvi. 

Tho'  truths  in  manhood  darkly  join, 
Deep-seated  in  our  mystic  frame, 
We  yield  all  blessing  to  the  name 

Of  Him  that  made  them  current  coin ; 

For  wisdom  dealt  with  mortal  powers 
Where  truth  in  closest  words  shall  fail, 
Where  truth  embodied  in  a  tale 

Shall  enter  in  at  lowly  doors. 

And  so  the  Word  had  breath,  and  wrought 
With  human  hands  the  creed  of  creeds 
In  loveliness  of  perfect  deeds, 

More  strong  than  all  poetic  thought ; 

Which  he  may  read  that  binds  the  sheaf, 
Or  builds  the  house,  or  digs  the  grave, 
And  those  wild  eyes  that  watch  the  wave 

In  roarings  round  the  coral  reef. 

XXXVII. 

Urania  speaks  with  darkened  brow : 

"Thou  pratest  here  where  thou  art  least; 


IN  MEMORIAM.  181 

This  faith  has  many  a  purer  priest, 
And  many  an  abler  voice  than  thou. 

11  Go  down  beside  thy  native  rill, 
On  thy  Parnassus  set  thy  feet, 
And  hear  thy  laurel  whisper  sweet 

About  the  ledges  of  the  hill." 

And  my  Melpomene  replies, 

A  touch  of  shame  upon  her  cheek : 
"  I  am  not  worthy  ev'n  to  speak 

Of  thy  prevailing  mysteries ; 

11  For  I  am  but  an  earthly  Muse, 
And  owning  but  a  little  art 
To  lull  with  song  an  aching  heart, 

And  render  human  love  his  dues ; 

"  But  brooding  on  the  dear  one  dead, 

And  all  he  said  of  things  divine, 

(And  dear  to  me 'as  sacred  wine, 
To  dying  lips  is  all  he  said), 

"  I  murmured,  as  I  came  along, 

Of  comfort  clasped  in  truth  revealed ; 
And  loitered  in  the  master's  field, 

And  darkened  sanctities  with  song." 

XXXVIII. 

With  weary  steps  I  loiter  on, 
Tho'  always  under  altered  skies 
The  purple  from  the  distance  dies, 

My  prospect  and  horizon  gone. 


182  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES, 

No  joy  the  blowing  season  gives, 
The  herald  melodies  of  spring, 
But  in  the  songs  I  love  to  sing 

A  doubtful  gleam  of  solace  lives. 

If  any  care  for  what  is  here 
Survive  in  spirits  rendered  free, 
Then  are  these  songs  I  sing  of  thee 

Not  all  ungrateful  to  thine  ear. 

XXXIX. 

Old  warder  of  these  buried  bones, 

And  answering  now  my  random  stroke 
With  fruitful  cloud  and  living  smoke, 

Dark  yew,  that  graspest  at  the  stones 

And  dippest  toward  the  dreamless  head, 
To  thee  too  comes  the  golden  hour 
When  flower  is  feeling  after  flower ; 

But  Sorrow  fixt  upon  the  dead, 

And  darkening  the  dark  graves  of  men, 
What  whispered  from  her  lying  lips  ? 
Thy  gloom  is  kindled  at  the  tips, 

And  passes  into  gloom  again. 

XL. 

Could  we  forget  the  widowed  hour 
And  look  on  Spirits  breathed  away, 
As  on  a  maiden  in  the  day 

When  first  she  wears  her  orange-flower ! 

When  crowned  with  blessing  she  doth  rise 
To  take  her  latest  leave  of  home, 


IN  MEMORIAM.  183 

And  hopes  and  light  regrets  that  come 
Make  April  of  her  tender  eyes ; 

And  doubtful  joys  the  father  move, 
And  tears  are  on  the  mother's  face, 
As  parting  with  a  long  embrace 

She  enters  other  realms  of  love  ; 

Her  office  there  to  rear,  to  teach, 

Becoming  as  is  meet  and  fit 

A  link  among  the  days,  to  knit 
The  generations  each  with  each ; 

And  doubtless,  unto  thee  is  given 

A  life  that  bears  immortal  fruit 

In  such  great  offices  as  suit 
The  full-grown  energies  of  heaven. 

Ay  me,  the  difference  I  discern ! 
How  often  shall  her  old  fireside 
Be  cheered  with  tidings  of  the  bride, 

How  often  she  herself  return, 

And  tell  them  all  they  would  have  told, 
And  bring  her  babe,  and  make  her  boast, 
Till  even  those  that  missed  her  most, 

Shall  count  new  things  as  dear  as  old : 

But  thou  and  I  have  shaken  hands, 

Till  growing  winters  lay  me  low ; 

My  paths  are  in  the  fields  I  know, 
And  thine  in  undiscovered  lands. 


184  THE  BOOK    OF  ELEGIES. 

XLI. 

Thy  spirit  ere  our  fatal  loss 

Did  ever  rise  from  high  to  higher ; 
As  mounts  the  heavenward  altar  fire, 

As  flies  the  lighter  thro'  the  gross. 

But  thou  art  turned  to  something  strange, 
And  I  have  lost  the  links  that  bound 
Thy  changes ;  here  upon  the  ground, 

No  more  partaker  of  thy  change. 

Deep  folly  !  yet  that  this  could  be  — 
That  I  could  wing  my  will  with  might 
To  leap  the  grades  of  life  and  light, 

And  flash  at  once,  my  friend,  to  thee : 

For  tho'  my  nature  rarely  yields 

To  that  vague  fear  implied  in  death ; 
Nor  shudders  at  the  gulfs  beneath, 

The  howlings  from  forgotten  fields ; 

Yet  oft  when  sundown  skirts  the  moor 

An  inner  trouble  I  behold, 

A  spectral  doubt  which  makes  me  cold, 
That  I  shall  be  thy  mate  no  more, 

Tho'  following  with  an  upward  mind 
The  wonders  that  have  come  to  thee, 
Thro'  all  the  secular  to-be, 

But  evermore  a  life  behind. 

XLII. 

I  vex  my  heart  with  fancies  dim ; 
He  still  outstrip t  me  in  the  race; 


IN  MEMORIAM.  185 

It  was  but  unity  of  place 
That  made  me  dream  I  ranked  with  him. 

And  so  may  Place  retain  us  still, 

And  he  the  much-beloved  again, 

A  lord  of  large  experience,  train 
To  riper  growth  the  mind  and  will; 

And  what  delights  can  equal  those 
That  stir  the  spirit's  inner  deeps, 
When  one  that  loves  but  knows  not,  reaps 

A  truth  from  one  that  loves  and  knows  ? 

XLIII. 

If  Sleep  and  Death  be  truly  one, 

And  every  spirit's  folded  bloom 

Thro'  all  its  intervital  gloom 
In  some  lone  trance  should  slumber  on ; 

Unconscious  of  the  sliding  hour, 

Bare  of  the  body,  might  it  last, 

And  silent  traces  of  the  past 
Be  all  the  color  of  the  flower : 

So  then  were  nothing  lost  to  man ; 

So  that  still  garden  of  the  souls 

In  many  a  figured  leaf  enrolls 
The  total  world  since  life  began ; 

And  love  will  last  as  pure  and  whole 
As  when  he  loved  me  here  in  time, 
And  at  the  spiritual  prime 

Rewaken  with  the  dawning  soul. 


186  THE  BOOK  OF  ELEGIES. 

XLIV. 

How  fares  it  with  the  happy  dead  ? 

For  here  the  man  is  more  and  more ; 

But  he  forgets  the  days  before 
God  shut  the  doorways  of  his  head. 

The  days  have  vanished,  tone  and  tint, 
And  yet  perhaps  the  hoarding  sense 
Gives  out  at  times  (he  knows  not  whence) 

A  little  flash,  a  mystic  hint ; 

And  in  the  long  harmonious  years 
(If  Death  so  taste  Lethean  springs) 
May  some  dim  touch  of  earthly  things 

Surprise  thee  ranging  with  thy  peers. 

If  such  a  dreamy  touch  should  fall, 
Oh,  turn  thee  round,  resolve  the  doubt 
My  guardian  angel  will  speak  out 

In  that  high  place,  and  tell  thee  all. 

XLV. 

The  baby  new  to  earth  and  sky, 
What  time  his  tender  palm  is  prest 
Against  the  circle  of  the  breast, 

Has  never  thought  that  "  this  is  I : " 

But  as  he  grows  he  gathers  much, 
And  learns  the  use  of  "  I  "  and  "  me 
And  finds  "  I  am  not  what  I  see, 

And  other  than  the  things  I  touch.'' 

So  rounds  he  to  a  separate  mind 

From  whence  clear  memory  may  begin, 


IN  MEMORIAM.  187 

As  thro'  the  frame  that  binds  him  in 
His  isolation  grows  defined. 

This  use  may  lie  in  blood  and  breath, 
Which  else  were  fruitless  of  their  due, 
Had  man  to  learn  himself  anew 

Beyond  the  second  birth  of  Death. 

XL  VI. 

We  ranging  down  this  lower  track, 

The  path  we  came  by,  thorn  and  flower, 
Is  shadowed  by  the  growing  hour, 

Lest  life  should  fail  in  looking  back. 

So  be  it :  there  no  shade  can  last 
In  that  deep  dawn  behind  the  tomb, 
But  clear  from  marge  to  marge  shall  bloom 

The  eternal  landscape  of  the  past ; 

A  lifelong  tract  of  time  revealed  ; 

The  fruitful  hours  of  still  increase; 

Days  ordered  in  a  wealthy  peace, 
And  those  five  years  its  richest  field. 

O  Love,  thy  province  were  not  large, 
A  bounded  field,  nor  stretching  far ; 
Look  also,  Love,  a  brooding  star, 

A  rosy  warmth  from  marge  to  marge. 

XL  VII. 

That  each,  who  seems  a  separate  whole, 
Should  move  his  rounds,  and  fusing  all 
The  skirts  of  self  again,  should  fall 

Remerging  in  the  general  Soul, 


188  THE  BOOK    OF  ELEGIES. 

Is  faith  as  vague  as  all  unsweet : 
Eternal  form  shall  still  divide 
The  eternal  soul  from  all  beside ; 

And  I  shall  know  him  when  we  meet : 

And  we  shall  sit  at  endless  feast, 
Enjoying  each  the  other's  good  : 
What  vaster  dream  can  hit  the  mood 

Of  Love  on  earth  ?     He  seeks  at  least 

Upon  the  last  and  sharpest  height, 
Before  the  spirits  fade  away, 
Some  landing  place,  to  clasp  and  say, 

"  Farewell !     We  lose  ourselves  in  light." 

XL  VIII. 

If  these  brief  lays,  of  Sorrow  born, 
Were  taken  to  be  such  as  closed 
Grave  doubts  and  answers  here  proposed, 

Then  these  were  such  as  men  might  scorn : 

Her  care  is  not  to  part  and  prove ; 
She  takes,  when  harsher  moods  remit, 
What  slender  shade  of  doubt  may  flit, 

And  makes  it  vassal  unto  love : 

And  hence,  indeed,  she  sports  with  words, 
But  better  serves  a  wholesome  law, 
And  holds  it  sin  and  shame  to  draw 

The  deepest  measure  from  the  chords : 

Nor  dare  she  trust  a  larger  lay, 
But  rather  loosens  from  the  lip 
Short  swallow-flights  of  song,  that  dip 

Their  wings  in  tears,  and  skim  away. 


IN  MEMORIAM.  189 


XLIX. 


From  art,  from  nature,  from  the  schools, 
Let  random  influences  glance, 
Like  light  in  many  a  shivered  lance 

That  breaks  about  the  dappled  pools  : 

The  lightest  wave  of  thought  shall  lisp, 
The  fancy's  tenderest  eddy  wreathe, 
The  slightest  air  of  song  shall  breathe 

To  make  the  sullen  surface  crisp. 

And  look  thy  look,  and  go  thy  way, 

But  blame  not  thou  the  winds  that  make 
The  seeming-wanton  ripple  break, 

The  tender-pencilled  shadow  play. 

Beneath  all  fancied  hopes  and  fears 
Ay  me,  the  sorrow  deepens  down, 
Whose  muffled  motions  blindly  drown 

The  bases  of  my  life  in  tears. 

L. 

Be  near  me  when  my  light  is  low, 

When  the  blood  creeps,  and  the  nerves  prick 
And  tingle ;  and  the  heart  is  sick, 

And  all  the  wheels  of  Being  slow. 

Be  near  me  when  the  sensuous  frame 
Is  racked  with  pangs  that  conquer  trust ; 
And  Time,  a  maniac  scattering  dust, 

And  Life,  a  Fury  slinging  flame. 

Be  near  me  when  my  faith  is  dry, 
And  men  the  flies  of  latter  spring, 


190  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

That  lay  their  eggs,  and  sting  and  sing, 
And  weave  their  petty  cells  and  die. 

Be  near  me  when  I  fade  away, 

To  point  the  term  of  human  strife, 
And  on  the  low  dark  verge  of  life 

The  twilight  of  eternal  day. 

LI. 

Do  we  indeed  desire  the  dead 

Should  still  be  near  us  at  our  side  ? 
Is  there  no  baseness  we  would  hide  ? 

No  inner  vileness  that  we  dread  ? 

Shall  he  for  whose  applause  I  strove, 
I  had  such  reverence  for  his  blame, 
See  with  clear  eye  some  hidden  shame 

And  I  be  lessened  in  his  love? 

I  wrong  the  grave  with  fears  untrue : 
Shall  love  be  blamed  for  want  of  faith  ? 
There  must  be  wisdom  with  great  Death : 

The  dead  shall  look  me  thro*  and  thro*. 

Be  near  us  when  we  climb  or  fall : 
Ye  watch,  like  God,  the  rolling  hours 
With  larger  other  eyes  than  ours, 

To  make  allowance  for  us  all. 

LII. 

I  cannot  love  thee  as  I  ought, 

For  love  reflects  the  things  beloved ; 
My  words  are  only  words,  and  moved 

Upon  the  topmost  froth  of  thought. 


IN  MEMORIAM.  191 

"  Yet  blame  not  thou  thy  plaintive  song," 

The  spirit  of  true  love  replied ; 

"Thou  canst  not  move  me  from  thy  side, 
Nor  human  frailty  do  me  wrong. 

"  What  keeps  a  spirit  wholly  true 

To  that  ideal  which  he  bears  ? 

What  record  ?  not  the  sinless  years 
That  breathed  beneath  the  Syrian  blue : 

"  So  fret  not,  like  an  idle  girl, 

That  life  is  dashed  with  flecks  of  sin. 
Abide  :  thy  wealth  is  gathered  in, 

When  Time  hath  sundered  shell  from  pearl." 

LIII. 

How  many  a  father  have  I  seen, 
A  sober  man,  among  his  boys, 
Whose  youth  was  full  of  foolish  noise, 

Who  wears  his  manhood  hale  and  green : 

And  dare  we  to  this  fancy  give, 

That  had  the  wild  oat  not  been  sown, 
The  soil,  left  barren,  scarce  had  grown 

The  grain  by  which  a  man  may  live  ? 

Oh,  if  we  held  the  doctrine  sound 
For  life  outliving  heats  of  youth, 
Yet  who  would  preach  it  as  a  truth 

To  those  that  eddy  round  and  round  ? 

Hold  thou  the  good :  define  it  well : 
For  fear  divine  Philosophy 
Should  push  beyond  her  mark,  and  be 

Procuress  to  the  lords  of  Hell. 


192  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

LIV. 

Oh,  yet  we  trust  that  somehow  good 
Will  be  the  final  goal  of  ill 
To  pangs  of  nature,  sins  of  will, 

Defects  of  doubt,  and  taints  of  blood ; 

That  nothing  walks  with  aimless  feet; 
That  no  one  life  shall  be  destroyed, 
Or  cast  as  rubbish  to  the  void, 

When  God  hath  made  the  pile  complete; 

That  not  a  worm  is  cloven  in  vain ; 
That  not  a  moth  with  vain  desire 
Is  shrivelled  in  a  fruitless  fire, 

Or  but  subserves  another's  gain. 

Behold,  we  know  not  any  thing ; 
I  can  but  trust  that  good  shall  fall 
At  last  —  far  off  —  at  last,  to  all, 

And  every  winter  change  to  spring. 

So  runs  my  dream  :  but  what  am  I  ? 
An  infant  crying  in  the  night : 
An  infant  crying  for  the  light : 

And  with  no  language  but  a  cry. 

LV. 

The  wish,  that  of  the  living  whole 
No  life  may  fail  beyond  the  grave, 
Derives  it  not  from  what  we  have 

The  likest  God  within  the  soul  ? 

Are  God  and  Nature  then  at  strife, 
That  Nature  lends  such  evil  dreams  ? 


IN  MEMORIAM.  193 

So  careful  of  the  type  she  seems, 
So  careless  of  the  single  life ; 

That  I,  considering  everywhere 

Her  secret  meaning  in  her  deeds, 

And  finding  that  of  fifty  seeds 
She  often  brings  but  one  to  bear, 

I  falter  where  I  firmly  trod, 

And  falling  with  my  weight  of  cares 
Upon  the  great  world's  altar-stairs 

That  slope  thro'  darkness  up  to  God, 

I  stretch  lame  hands  of  faith,  and  grope, 
And  gather  dust  and  chaff,  and  call 
To  what  I  feel  is  Lord  of  all, 

And  faintly  trust  the  larger  hope. 

LVI. 

"  So  careful  of  the  type  ?  "  but  no. 
From  scarped  cliff  and  quarried  stone 
She  cries  :  "  A  thousand  types  are  gone : 

I  care  for  nothing,  all  shall  go. 

"  Thou  makest  thine  appeal  to  me : 
I  bring  to  life,  I  bring  to  death : 
The  spirit  does  but  mean  the  breath : 

I  know  no  more."     And  he,  shall  he, 

Man,  her  last  work,  who  seemed  so  fair, 
Such  splendid  purpose  in  his  eyes, 
Who  rolled  the  psalm  to  wintry  skies, 

Who  built  him  fanes  of  fruitless  prayer, 


* 


194  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

Who  trusted  God  was  love  indeed 
And  love  Creation's  final  law  — 
Tho'  Nature,  red  in  tooth  and  claw 

With  ravine,  shrieked  against  his  creed - 

Who  loved,  who  suffered  countless  ills, 
Who  battled  for  the  True,  the  Just, 
Be  blown  about  the  desert  dust, 

Or  sealed  within  the  iron  hills  ? 

No  more  ?  A  monster  then,  a  dream, 
A  discord.  Dragons  of  the  prime, 
That  tear  each  other  in  their  slime, 

Were  mellow  music  matched  with  him. 

O  life  as  futile,  then,  as  frail ! 

O  for  thy  voice  to  soothe  and  bless ! 

What  hope  of  answer,  or  redress  ? 
Behind  the  veil,  behind  the  veil. 

LVII. 

Peace ;  come  away :  the  song  of  woe 
Is  after  all  an  earthly  song : 
Peace ;  come  away  :  we  do  him  wrong 

To  sing  so  wildly :  let  us  go. 

Come  let  us  go :  your  cheeks  are  pale ; 
But  half  my  life  I  leave  behind : 
Methinks  my  friend  is  richly  shrined ; 

But  I  shall  pass,  my  work  will  fail. 

Yet  in  these  ears,  till  hearing  dies, 
One  set  slow  bell  will  seem  to  toll 
The  passing  of  the  sweetest  soul 

That  ever  look'd  with  human  eyes. 


IN  MEMORIAM.  195 

I  hear  it  now,  and  o'er  and  o'er, 

Eternal  greetings  to  the  dead, 

And  "  Ave,  Ave,  Ave,"  said, 
"  Adieu,  adieu,"  for  evermore. 

LVIII. 

In  those  sad  words  I  took  farewell : 

Like  echoes  in  sepulchral  halls, 

As  drop  by  drop  the  water  falls 
In  vaults  and  catacombs,  they  fell ; 

And,  falling,  idly  broke  the  peace 
Of  hearts  that  beat  from  day  to  day, 
Half-conscious  of  their  dying  clay, 

And  those  cold  crypts  where  they  shall  cease. 

The  high  Muse  answered  :  "  Wherefore  grieve 
Thy  brethren  with  a  fruitless  tear  ? 
Abide  a  little  longer  here, 

And  thou  shalt  take  a  nobler  leave." 

LIX. 

O  Sorrow,  wilt  thou  live  with  me, 
No  casual  mistress,  but  a  wife, 
My  bosom-friend  and  half  of  life ; 

As  I  confess  it  needs  must  be ; 

O  Sorrow,  wilt  thou  rule  my  blood, 

Be  sometimes  lovely  like  a  bride, 

And  put  thy  harsher  moods  aside, 
If  thou  wilt  have  me  wise  and  good. 

My  centred  passion  cannot  move, 
Nor  will  it  lessen  from  to-day ; 


1%  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

But  I'll  have  leave  at  times  to  play 
As  with  the  creature  of  my  love ; 

And  set  thee  forth,  for  thou  art  mine, 
With  so  much  hope  for  years  to  come, 
That,  howsoe'er  I  know  thee,  some 

Could  hardly  tell  what  name  were  thine. 

LX. 

He  passed :  a  soul  of  nobler  tone : 
My  spirit  loved  and  loves  him  yet, 
Like  some  poor  girl  whose  heart  is  set 

On  one  whose  rank  exceeds  her  own. 

He  mixing  with  his  proper  sphere, 
She  finds  the  baseness  of  her  lot, 
Half  jealous  of  she  knows  not  what, 

And  envying  all  that  meet  him  there. 

The  little  village  looks  forlorn ; 
She  sighs  amid  her  narrow  days, 
Moving  about  the  household  ways, 

In  that  dark  house  where  she  was  born. 

The  foolish  neighbors  come  and  go, 
And  tease  her  till  the  day  draws  by : 
At  night  she  weeps,  "  How  vain  am  I! 

How  should  he  love  a  thing  so  low  ? " 

LXI. 

If,  in  thy  second  state  sublime, 

Thy  ransomed  reason  change  replies 
With  all  the  circle  of  the  wise, 

The  perfect  flower  of  human  time ; 


IN  MEMORIAM.  197 

And  if  thou  cast  thine  eyes  below, 
How  dimly  charactered  and  slight, 
How  dwarfed  a  growth  of  cold  and  night, 

How  blanched  with  darkness  must  I  grow ! 

Yet  turn  thee  to  the  doubtful  shore, 
Where  thy  first  form  was  made  a  man ; 
I  loved  thee,  Spirit  and  love,  nor  can 

The  soul  of  Shakespeare  love  thee  more. 

LXII. 

Tho*  if  an  eye  that's  downward  cast 

Could  make  thee  somewhat  blench  or  fail, 
Then  be  my  love  an  idle  tale, 

And  fading  legend  of  the  past ; 

And  thou,  as  one  that  once  declined, 
When  he  was  little  more  than  boy, 
On  some  unworthy  heart  with  joy, 

But  lives  to  wed  an  equal  mind ; 

And  breathes  a  novel  world,  the  while 

His  other  passion  wholly  dies, 

Or  in  the  light  of  deeper  eyes 
^s  matter  for  a  flying  smile. 

LXIII. 

Yet  pity  for  a  horse  o'er-driven, 

And  love  in  which  my  hound  has  part, 
Can  hang  no  weight  upon  my  heart 

In  its  assumptions  up  to  heaven ; 

And  I  am  so  much  more  than  these, 
As  thou,  perchance,  art  more  than  I, 


198  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES, 

And  yet  I  spare  them  sympathy 
And  I  would  set  their  pains  at  ease. 

So  may'st  thou  watch  me  where  I  weep, 
As,  unto  vaster  motions  bound, 
The  circuits  of  thine  orbit  round 

A  higher  height,  a  deeper  deep. 

LXIV. 

Dost  thou  look  back  on  what  hath  been, 
As  some  divinely  gifted  man, 
Whose  life  in  low  estate  began 

And  on  a  simple  village  green ; 

Who  breaks  his  birth's  invidious  bar, 
And  grasps  the  skirts  of  happy  chance, 
And  breasts  the  blows  of  circumstance, 

And  grapples  with  his  evil  star ; 

Who  makes  by  force  his  merit  known 
And  lives  to  clutch  the  golden  keys, 
To  mould  a  mighty  state's  decrees, 

And  shape  the  whisper  of  the  throne ; 

And  moving  up  from  high  to  higher, 
Becomes  on  Fortune's  crowning  slope 
The  pillar  of  a  people's  hope, 

The  centre  of  a  world's  desire ; 

Yet  feels,  as  in  a  pensive  dream, 
When  all  his  active  powers  are  still, 
A  distant  dearness  in  the  hill, 

A  secret  sweetness  in  the  stream, 


IN  MEMORIAM.  199 

The  limit  of  his  narrower  fate, 
While  yet  beside  its  vocal  springs 
He  played  at  counsellors  and  kings, 

With  one  that  was  his  earliest  mate ; 

Who  ploughs  with  pain  his  native  lea 

And  reaps  the  labor  of  his  hands, 

Or  in  the  furrow  musing  stands : 
"  Does  my  old  friend  remember  me  ? " 

LXV. 

Sweet  soul,  do  with  me  as  thou  wilt ; 
I  lull  a  fancy  trouble-tossed 
With  "  Love's  too  precious  to  be  lost, 

A  little  grain  shall  not  be  spilt." 

And  in  that  solace  can  I  sing, 

Till  out  of  painful  phases  wrought 
There  flutters  up  a  happy  thought, 

Self-balanced  on  a  lightsome  wing : 

Since  we  deserved  the  name  of  friends, 

And  thine  effect  so  lives  in  me, 

A  part  of  mine  may  live  in  thee 
And  move  thee  on  to  noble  ends. 

LXVI. 

You  thought  my  heart  too  far  diseased : 
You  wonder  when  my  fancies  play 
To  find  me  gay  among  the  gay, 

Like  one  with  any  trifle  pleased. 

The  shade  by  which  my  life  was  crossed 
Which  makes,  a  desert  in  the  mind, 


200  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

Has  made  me  kindly  with  my  kind, 
And  like  to  him  whose  sight  is  lost ; 

Whose  feet  are  guided  thro'  the  land, 
Whose  jest  among  his  friends  is  free, 
Who  takes  the  children  on  his  knee, 

And  winds  their  curls  about  his  hand : 

He  plays  with  threads,  he  beats  his  chair 
For  pastime,  dreaming  of  the  sky ; 
His  inner  day  can  never  die, 

His  night  of  loss  is  always  there. 

LXVII. 

When  on  my  bed  the  moonlight  falls, 
I  know  that  in  thy  place  of  rest, 
By  that  broad  water  of  the  west, 

There  comes  a  glory  on  the  walls : 

Thy  marble  bright  in  dark  appears, 
As  slowly  steals  a  silver  flame 
Along  the  letters  of  thy  name, 

And  o'er  the  number  of  thy  years. 

The  mystic  glory  swims  away ; 

From  off  my  bed  the  moonlight  dies ; 

And  closing  eaves  of  wearied  eyes 
I  sleep  till  dusk  is  dipped  in  gray : 

And  then  I  know  the  mist  is  drawn 
A  lucid  veil  from  coast  to  coast, 
And  in  the  dark  church  like  a  ghost 

Thy  tablet  glimmers  to  the  dawn. 


IN  MEMORIAM.  201 


LXVIII. 


When  in  the  down  I  sink  my  head, 

Sleep,  Death's  twin-brother,  times  my  breath ; 

Sleep,  Death's  twin-brother,  knows  not  Death, 
Nor  can  I  dream  of  thee  as  dead. 

I  walk  as  ere  I  walked  forlorn, 

When  all  our  path  was  fresh  with  dew, 
And  all  the  bugle  breezes  blew 

Reveill6e  to  the  breaking  morn. 

But  what  is  this  ?     I  turn  about, 
I  find  a  trouble  in  thine  eye, 
Which  makes  me  sad  I  know  not  why, 

Nor  can  my  dream  resolve  the  doubt : 

But  ere  the  lark  hath  left  the  lea 

I  wake,  and  I  discern  the  truth ; 

It  is  the  trouble  of  my  youth 
That  foolish  sleep  transfers  to  thee. 

LXIX. 

I  dreamed  there  would  be  Spring  no  more, 
That  Nature's  ancient  power  was  lost : 
The  streets  were  black  with  smoke  and  frost, 

They  chattered  trifles  at  the  door : 

I  wandered  from  the  noisy  town, 

I  found  a  wood  with  thorny  boughs : 
I  took  the  thorns  to  bind  my  brows, 

I  wore  them  like  a  civic  crown : 

I  met  with  scoffs,  I  met  with  scorns 
From  youth  and  babe  and  hoary  hairs : 


202  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

They  called  me  in  the  public  squares 
The  fool  that  wears  a  crown  of  thorns : 

They  called  me  fool,  they  called  me  child : 
I  found  an  angel  of  the  night ; 
The  voice  was  low,  the  look  was  bright ; 

He  looked  upon  my  crown  and  smiled : 

He  reached  the  glory  of  a  hand, 
That  seemed  to  touch  it  into  leaf : 
The  voice  was  not  the  voice  of  grief ; 

The  words  were  hard  to  understand. 

LXX. 

I  cannot  see  the  features  right, 

When  on  the  gloom  I  strive  to  paint 
The  face  I  know ;  the  hues  are  faint 

And  mix  with  hollow  masks  of  night ; 

Cloud-towers  by  ghostly  masons  wrought, 
A  gulf  that  ever  shuts  and  gapes, 
A  hand  that  points,  and  palled  shapes 

In  shadowy  thoroughfares  of  thought ; 

And  crowds  that  stream  from  yawning  doors, 
And  shoals  of  puckered  faces  drive ; 
Dark  bulks  that  tumble  half  alive, 

And  lazy  lengths  on  boundless  shores ; 

Till  all  at  once  beyond  the  will 
I  hear  a  wizard  music  roll, 
And  thro'  a  lattice  on  the  soul 

Looks  thy  fair  face  and  makes  it  still. 


IN  MEMORIAM.  203 


LXXI. 


Sleep,  kinsman  thou  to  death  and  trance 
And  madness,  thou  hast  forged  at  last 
A  night-long  Present  of  the  Past 

In  which  we  went  thro'  summer  France. 

Hadst  thou  such  credit  with  the  soul  ? 
Then  bring  an  opiate  trebly  strong, 
Drug  down  the  blindfold  sense  of  wrong 

That  so  my  pleasure  may  be  whole ; 

While  now  we  talk  as  once  we  talked 
Of  men  and  minds,  the  dust  of  change, 
The  days  that  grow  to  something  strange, 

In  walking  as  of  old  we  walked 

Beside  the  river's  wooded  reach, 

The  fortress,  and  the  mountain  ridge, 
The  cataract  flashing  from  the  bridge, 

The  breaker  breaking  on  the  beach. 

LXXII. 

Risest  thou  thus,  dim  dawn,  again, 
And  howlest,  issuing  out  of  night, 
With  blasts  that  blow  the  poplar  white, 

And  lash  with  storm  the  streaming  pane  ? 

Day  when  my  crowned  estate  begun 
To  pine  in  that  reverse  of  doom, 
Which  sickened  every  living  bloom, 

And  blurred  the  splendor  of  the  sun ; 

Who  usherest  in  the  dolorous  hour 

With  thy  quick  tears  that  make  the  rose 


204  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

Pull  sideways,  and  the  daisy  close 
Her  crimson  fringes  to  the  shower ; 

Who  might'st  have  heaved  a  windless  flame 
Up  the  deep  East,  or,  whispering,  played 
A  chequer-work  of  beam  and  shade 

Along  the  hills,  yet  looked  the  same, 

As  wan,  as  chill,  as  wild  as  now ; 

Day,  marked  as  with  some  hideous  crime, 
When  the  dark  hand  struck  down  thro'  time 

And  cancelled  nature's  best :  but  thou, 

Lift  as  thou  may'st  thy  burdened  brows 
Thro'  clouds  that  drench  the  morning  star, 
And  whirl  the  ungarnered  sheaf  afar, 

And  sow  the  sky  with  flying  boughs, 

And  up  thy  vault  with  roaring  sound 
Climb  thy  thick  noon,  disastrous  day ; 
Touch  thy  dull  goal  of  joyless  gray, 

And  hide  thy  shame  beneath  the  ground. 

LXXIII. 

So  many  worlds,  so  much  to  do, 
So  little  done,  such  things  to  be, 
How  know  I  what  had  need  of  thee, 

For  thou  wert  strong  as  thou  wert  true  ? 

The  fame  is  quenched  that  I  foresaw, 

The  head  hath  missed  an  earthly  wreath ; 
I  curse  not  nature,  no,  nor  death ; 

For  nothing  is  that  errs  from  law. 


IN  MEMORIAM.  205 

We  pass :  the  path  that  each  man  trod 
Is  dim,  or  will  be  dim,  with  weeds : 
What  fame  is  left  for  human  deeds 

In  endless  age  ?     It  rests  with  God. 

0  hollow  wraith  of  dying  fame, 
Fade  wholly,  while  the  soul  exults, 
And  self-infolds  the  large  results 

Of  force  that  would  have  forged  a  name. 

LXXIV. 

As  sometimes  in  a  dead  man's  face, 
To  those  that  watch  it  more  and  more, 
A  likeness,  hardly  seen  before, 

Comes  out  —  to  some  one  of  his  race : 

So,  dearest,  now  thy  brows  are  cold, 
I  see  thee  what  thou  art,  and  know 
Thy  likeness  to  the  wise  below, 

Thy  kindred  with  the  great  of  old. 

But  there  is  more  than  I  can  see, 
And  what  I  see  I  leave  unsaid, 
Nor  speak  it,  knowing  Death  has  made 

His  darkness  beautiful  with  thee. 

LXXV. 

1  leave  thy  praises  unexpressed 

In  verse  that  brings  myself  relief, 
And  by  the  measure  of  my  grief 
I  leave  thy  greatness  to  be  guessed ; 

What  practice  howsoe'er  expert 
In  fitting  aptest  words  to  things, 


206  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

Or  voice  the  richest-toned  that  sings, 
Hath  power  to  give  thee  as  thou  wert  ? 

I  care  not  in  these  fading  days 
To  raise  a  cry  that  lasts  not  long, 
And  round  thee  with  the  breeze  of  song 

To  stir  a  little  dust  of  praise. 

Thy  leaf  has  perished  in  the  green, 

And,  while  we  breathe  beneath  the  sun, 
The  world  which  credits  what  is  done 

Is  cold  to  all  that  might  have  been. 

So  here  shall  silence  guard  thy  fame ; 
But  somewhere,  out  of  human  view, 
Whate'er  thy  hands  are  set  to  do 

Is  wrought  with  tumult  of  acclaim. 

LXXVI. 

Take  wings  of  fancy,  and  ascend, 
And  in  a  moment  set  thy  face 
Where  all  the  starry  heavens  of  space 

Are  sharpened  to  a  needle's  end ; 

Take  wings  of  foresight ;  lighten  thro* 
The  secular  abyss  to  come, 
And  lo,  thy  deepest  lays  are  dumb 

Before  the  mouldering  of  a  yew ; 

And  if  the  matin  songs,  that  woke 
The  darkness  of  our  planet,  last, 
Thine  own  shall  wither  in  the  vast, 

Ere  half  the  lifetime  of  an  oak. 


IN  MEMORIAM.  207 

Ere  these  have  clothed  their  branchy  bowers 
With  fifty  Mays,  thy  songs  are  vain ; 
And  what  are  they  when  these  remain 

The  ruined  shells  of  hollow  towers  ? 

LXXVII. 

What  hope  is  here  for  modern  rhyme 
To  him  who  turns  a  musing  eye 
On  songs,  and  deeds,  and  lives,  that  lie 

Foreshortened  in  the  tract  of  time  ? 

These  mortal  lullabies  of  pain 
May  bind  a  book,  may  line  a  box, 
May  serve  to  curl  a  maiden's  locks ; 

Or  when  a  thousand  moons  shall  wane 

A  man  upon  a  stall  may  find, 

And  passing,  turn  the  page  that  tells 
A  grief,  then  changed  to  something  else, 

Sung  by  a  long-forgotten  mind. 

But  what  of  that  ?     My  darkened  ways 
Shall  ring  with  music  all  the  same : 
To  breathe  my  loss  is  more  than  fame, 

To  utter  love  more  sweet  than  praise. 

lxxviii. 

Again  at  Christmas  did  we  weave 

The  holly  round  the  Christmas  hearth ; 
The  silent  snow  possessed  the  earth, 

And  calmly  fell  our  Christmas-eve : 

The  yule-clog  sparkled  keen  with  frost, 
No  wing  of  wind  the  region  swept, 


208  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

But  over  all  things  brooding  slept 
The  quiet  sense  of  something  lost. 

As  in  the  winters  left  behind, 

Again  our  ancient  games  had  place, 
The  mimic  picture's  breathing  grace, 

And  dance  and  song  and  hoodman-blind. 

Who  showed  a  token  of  distress  ? 
No  single  tear,  no  mark  of  pain : 
O  sorrow,  then  can  sorrow  wane  ? 

O  grief,  can  grief  be  changed  to  less  ? 

O  last  regret,  regret  can  die ! 

No  —  mixed  with  all  this  mystic  frame, 
Her  deep  relations  are  the  same, 

But  with  long  use  her  tears  are  dry. 


LXXIX. 

11  More  than  my  brothers  are  to  me  "  — 
Let  this  not  vex  thee,  noble  heart ! 
I  know  thee  of  what  force  thou  art 

To  hold  the  costliest  love  in  fee. 

But  thou  and  I  are  one  in  kind, 
As  moulded  like  in  Nature's  mint ; 
And  hill  and  wood  and  field  did  print 

The  same  sweet  forms  in  either  mind. 

For  us  the  same  cold  streamlet  curled 
Thro'  all  his  eddying  coves ;  the  same 
All  winds  that  roam  the  twilight  came 

In  whispers  of  the  beauteous  world. 


IN  MEMORIAM.  209 

At  one  dear  knee  we  proffered  vows, 
One  lesson  from  one  book  we  learned, 
Ere  childhood's  flaxen  ringlet  turned 

To  black  and  brown  on  kindred  brows. 

And  so  my  wealth  resembles  thine, 
But  he  was  rich  where  I  was  poor, 
And  he  supplied  my  want  the  more 

As  his  unlikeness  fitted  mine. 

LXXX. 

If  any  vague  desire  should  rise, 
That  holy  Death  ere  Arthur  died 
Had  moved  me  kindly  from  his  side, 

And  dropped  the  dust  on  tearless  eyes ; 

Then  fancy  shapes,  as  fancy  can, 

The  grief  my  loss  in  him  had  wrought, 
A  grief  as  deep  as  life  or  thought, 

But  stayed  in  peace  with  God  and  man. 

I  make  a  picture  in  the  brain ; 

I  hear  the  sentence  that  he  speaks ; 

He  bears  the  burden  of  the  weeks ; 
But  turns  his  burden  into  gain. 

His  credit  thus  shall  set  me  free ; 

And,  influence-rich  to  soothe  and  save, 

Unused  example  from  the  grave 
Reach  out  dead  hands  to  comfort  me. 

LXXXI. 

Could  I  have  said  while  he  was  here, 
"  My  love  shall  now  no  further  range ; 


210  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

There  cannot  come  a  mellower  change, 
For  now  is  love  mature  in  ear." 

Love,  then,  had  hope  of  richer  store : 
What  end  is  here  to  my  complaint  ? 
This  haunting  whisper  makes  me  faint, 

"  More  years  had  made  me  love  thee  more.1 

But  Death  returns  an  answer  sweet : 
"My  sudden »frost  was  sudden  gain, 
And  gave  all  ripeness  to  the  grain, 

It  might  have  drawn  from  after-heat." 

LXXXII. 

I  wage  not  any  feud  with  Death 

For  changes  wrought  on  form  and  face ; 
No  lower  life  that  earth's  embrace 

May  breed  with  him,  can  fright  my  faith. 

Eternal  process  moving  on, 

From  state  to  state  the  spirit  walks ; 
And  these  are  but  the  shattered  stalks, 

Or  ruined  chrysalis  of  one. 

Nor  blame  I  Death,  because  he  bare 
The  use  of  virtue  out  of  earth : 
I  know  transplanted  human  worth 

Will  bloom  to  profit,  otherwhere. 

For  this  alone  on  Death  I  wreak 

The  wrath  that  garners  in  my  heart ; 
He  put  our  lives  so  far  apart 

We  cannot  hear  each  other  speak. 


IN  MEMORIAM.  211 


LXXXIII. 


Dip  down  upon  the  northern  shore, 
O  sweet  New-Year  delaying  long ; 
Thou  doest  expectant  nature  wrong ; 

Delaying  long,  delay  no  more. 

What  stays  thee  from  the  clouded  noons, 
Thy  sweetness  from  its  proper  place  ? 
Can  trouble  live  with  April  days, 

Or  sadness  in  the  summer  moons  ? 

Bring  orchis,  bring  the  foxglove  spire, 
The  little  speedwell's  darling  blue, 
Deep  tulips  dashed  with  fiery  dew, 

Laburnums,  dropping-wells  of  fire. 

0  thou,  New- Year,  delaying  long, 
Delayest  the  sorrow  in  my  blood, 
That  longs  to  burst  a  frozen  bud, 

And  flood  a  fresher  throat  with  song. 

LXXXIV. 

When  I  contemplate  all  alone 

The  life  that  had  been  thine  below, 
And  fix  my  thoughts  on  all  the  glow 

To  which  thy  crescent  would  have  grown ; 

1  see  thee  sitting  crowned  with  good, 
A  central  warmth  diffusing  bliss 

In  glance  and  smile,  and  clasp  and  kiss, 
On  all  the  branches  of  thy  blood ; 

Thy  blood,  my  friend,  and  partly  mine ; 
For  now  the  day  was  drawing  on, 


212  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

When  thou  should'st  link  thy  life  with  one 
Of  mine  own  house,  and  boys  of  thine 

Had  babbled  "  Uncle  "  on  my  knee ; 
But  that  remorseless  iron  hour 
Made  cypress  of  her  orange  flower, 

Despair  of  Hope,  and  earth  of  thee. 

I  seem  to  meet  their  least  desire, 

To  clap  their  cheeks,  to  call  them  mine. 
I  see  their  unborn  faces  shine 

Beside  the  never-lighted  fire. 

I  see  myself  an  honored  guest, 
Thy  partner  in  the  flowery  walk 
Of  letters,  genial  table-talk, 

Or  deep  dispute,  and  graceful  jest; 

While  now  thy  prosperous  labor  fills 
The  lips  of  men  with  honest  praise, 
And  sun  by  sun  the  happy  days 

Descend  below  the  golden  hills 

With  promise  of  a  morn  as  fair; 

And  all  the  train  of  bounteous  hours 
Conduct  by  paths  of  growing  powers 

To  reverence  and  the  silver  hair ; 

Till  slowly  worn  her  earthly  robe, 
Her  lavish  mission  richly  wrought, 
Leaving  great  legacies  of  thought, 

Thy  spirit  should  fail  from  off  the  globe ; 

What  time  mine  own  might  also  flee, 
As  linked  with  thine  in  love  and  fate, 


IN  MEMORIAM.  213 

And,  hovering  o'er  the  dolorous  strait 
To  the  other  shore,  involved  in  thee, 

Arrive  at  last  the  blessed  goal, 
And  He  that  died  in  Holy  Land 
Would  reach  us  out  the  shining  hand, 

And  take  us  as  a  single  soul. 

What  reed  was  that  on  which  I  leant  ? 
Ah,  backward  fancy,  wherefore  wake 
The  old  bitterness  again,  and  break 

The  low  beginnings  of  content. 

LXXXV. 

This  truth  came  borne  with  bier  and  pall, 

I  felt  it,  when  I  sorrowed  most, 

'Tis  better  to  have  loved  and  lost, 
Than  never  to  have  loved  at  all  — 

O  true  in  word,  and  tried  in  deed, 
Demanding,  so  to  bring  relief 
To  this  which  is  our  common  grief, 

What  kind  of  life  is  that  I  lead ; 

And  whether  trust  in  things  above 
Be  dimmed  of  sorrow,  or  sustained ; 
And  whether  love  for  him  have  drained 

My  capabilities  of  love ; 

Your  words  have  virtue  such  as  draws 
A  faithful  answer  from  the  breast, 
Thro'  light  reproaches,  half  expressed, 

And  loyal  unto  kindly  laws. 


214  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

My  blood  an  even  tenor  kept, 

Till  on  mine  ear  this  message  falls, 
That  in  Vienna's  fatal  walls 

God's  finger  touched  him,  and  he  slept. 

The  great  Intelligences  fair 

That  range  above  our  mortal  state, 
In  circle  round  the  blessed  gate, 

Received  and  gave  him  welcome  there ; 

And  led  him  thro'  the  blissful  climes, 
And  showed  him  in  the  fountain  fresh 
All  knowledge  that  the  sons  of  flesh 

Shall  gather  in  the  cycled  times. 

But  I  remained,  whose  hopes  were  dim, 

Whose  life,  whose  thoughts  were  little  worth, 
To  wander  on  a  darkened  earth, 

Where  all  things  round  me  breathed  of  him. 

O  friendship,  equal-poised  control, 
O  heart,  with  kindliest  motion  warm, 

0  sacred  essence,  other  form, 
O  solemn  ghost,  O  crowned  soul! 

Yet  none  could  better  know  than  I, 
How  much  of  act  at  human  hands 
The  sense  of  human  will  demands 

By  which  we  dare  to  live  or  die. 

Whatever  way  my  days  decline, 

1  felt  and  feel,  tho'  left  alone, 
His  being  working  in  mine  own, 

The  footsteps  of  his  life  in  mine; 


IN  MEMORIAM.  215 

A  life  that  all  the  Muses  decked 

With  gifts  of  grace,  that  might  express 
All-comprehensive  tenderness, 

All-subtilizing  intellect : 

And  so  my  passion  hath  not  swerved 

To  works  of  weakness,  but  I  find 

An  image  comforting  the  mind, 
And  in  my  grief  a  strength  reserved. 

Likewise  the  imaginative  woe, 

That  loved  to  handle  spiritual  strife, 
Diffused  the  shock  thro*  all  my  life, 

But  in  the  present  broke  the  blow. 

My  pulses  therefore  beat  again 
For  other  friends  that  once  I  met ; 
Nor  can  it  suit  me  to  forget 

The  mighty  hopes  that  make  us  men. 

I  woo  your  love  :  I  count  it  crime 

To  mourn  for  any  overmuch ; 

I,  the  divided  half  of  such 
A  friendship  as  had  mastered  Time ; 

Which  masters  Time  indeed,  and  is 
Eternal,  separate  from  fears : 
The  all-assuming  months  and  years 

Can  take  no  part  away  from  this : 

But  Summer  on  the  steaming  floods, 

And  Spring  that  swells  the  narrow  brooks, 
And  Autumn,  with  a  noise  of  rooks, 

That  gather  in  the  waning  woods, 


216  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

And  every  pulse  of  wind  and  wave 
Recalls,  in  change  of  light  or  gloom, 
My  old  affection  of  the  tomb, 

And  my  prime  passion  in  the  grave : 

My  old  affection  of  the  tomb, 
A  part  of  stillness,  yearns  to  speak : 
"  Arise,  and  get  thee  forth  and  seek 

A  friendship  for  the  years  to  come. 

"  I  watch  thee  from  the  quiet  shore : 
Thy  spirit  up  to  mine  can  reach ; 
But  in  dear  words  of  human  speech 

We  two  communicate  no  more." 

And  I,  "  Can  clouds  of  nature  stain 
The  starry  clearness  of  the  free  ? 
How  is  it  ?     Canst  thou  feel  for  me 

Some  painless  sympathy  with  pain  ? " 

And  lightly  does  the  whisper  fall : 
"  'Tis  hard  for  thee  to  fathom  this ; 
I  triumph  in  conclusive  bliss, 

And  that  serene  result  of  all." 

So  hold  I  commerce  with  the  dead ; 

Or  so  methinks  the  dead  would  say ; 

Or  so  shall  grief  with  symbols  play, 
And  pining  life  be  fancy-fed. 

Now  looking  to  some  settled  end, 

That  these  things  pass,  and  I  shall  prove 
A  meeting  somewhere,  love  with  love, 

I  crave  your  pardon,  O  my  friend ; 


IN  MEMORIAM.  217 

If  not  so  fresh,  with  love  as  true, 

I,  clasping  brother-hands,  aver 

I  could  not,  if  I  would,  transfer 
The  whole  I  felt  for  him  to  you. 

For  which  be  they  that  hold  apart 

The  promise  of  the  golden  hours  ? 

First  love,  first  friendship,  equal  powers, 
That  marry  with  the  virgin  heart. 

Still  mine,  that  cannot  but  deplore, 

That  beats  within  a  lonely  place, 

That  yet  remembers  his  embrace, 
But  at  his  footstep  leaps  no  more, 

My  heart,  tho'  widowed,  may  not  rest 
Quite  in  the  love  of  what  is  gone, 
But  seeks  to  beat  in  time  with  one 

That  warms  another  living  breast. 

Ah,  take  the  imperfect  gift  I  bring, 
Knowing  the  primrose  yet  is  dear, 
The  primrose  of  the  later  year, 

As  not  unlike  to  that  of  Spring. 

LXXXVI. 

Sweet  after  showers,  ambrosial  air, 
That  rollest  from  the  gorgeous  gloom 
Of  evening  over  brake  and  bloom 

And  meadow,  slowly  breathing  bare 

The  round  of  space,  and  rapt  below 
Thro'  all  the  dewy-tasselled  wood, 
And  shadowing  down  the  horned  flood 

In  ripples,  fan  my  brows  and  blow 


218  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES, 

The  fever  from  my  cheek,  and  sigh 
The  full  new  life  that  feeds  thy  breath 
Throughout  my  frame,  till  Doubt  and  Death, 

111  brethren,  let  the  fancy  fly 

From  belt  to  belt  of  crimson  seas 
On  leagues  of  odor  streaming  far, 
To  where  in  yonder  orient  star 

A  hundred  spirits  whisper  "  Peace." 

LXXXVII. 

• 
I  passed  beside  the  reverend  walls 

In  which  of  old  I  wore  the  gown ; 

I  roved  at  random  thro'  the  town, 
And  saw  the  tumult  of  the  halls ; 

And  heard  once  more  in  college  fanes 
The  storm  their  high-built  organs  make, 
And  thunder-music,  rolling,  shake 

The  prophets  blazoned  on  the  panes; 

And  caught  once  more  the  distant  shout, 
The  measured  pulse  of  racing  oars 
Among  the  willows ;  paced  the  shores 

And  many  a  bridge,  and  all  about 

The  same  gray  flats  again,  and  felt 
The  same,  but  not  the  same ;  and  last 
Up  that  long  walk  of  limes  I  passed 

To  see  the  rooms  in  which  he  dwelt. 

Another  name  was  on  the  door : 
I  lingered ;  all  within  was  noise 
Of  song,  and  clapping  hands,  and  boys 

That  crashed  the  glass  and  beat  the  floor ; 


IN  MEMORIAM.  219 

Where  once  we  held  debate,  a  band 
Of  youthful  friends,  on  mind  and  art, 
And  labor,  and  the  changing  mart, 

And  all  the  framework  of  the  land ; 

When  one  would  aim  an  arrow  fair, 
But  send  it  slackly  from  the  string ; 
And  one  would  pierce  an  outer  ring 

And  one  an  inner,  here  and  there ; 

And  last  the  master-bowman,  he 

Would  cleave  the  mark.     A  willing  ear 
We  lent  him.     Who,  but  hung  to  hear 

The  rapt  oration  flowing  free 

From  point  to  point,  with  power  and  grace 
And  music  in  the  bounds  of  law, 
To  those  conclusions  when  we  saw 

The  God  within  him  light  his  face, 

And  seem  to  lift  the  form,  and  glow 

In  azure  orbits  heavenly-wise ; 

And  over  those  ethereal  eyes 
The  bar  of  Michael  Angelo. 

LXXXVIII. 

Wild  bird,  whose  warble,  liquid  sweet, 
Rings  Eden  thro'  the  budded  quicks, 
Oh,  tell  me  where  the  senses  mix, 

Oh,  tell  me  where  the  passions  meet, 

Whence  radiate  :  fierce  extremes  employ 
Thy  spirits  in  the  darkening  leaf, 


220  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

And  in  the  midmost  heart  of  grief 
Thy  passion  clasps  a  secret  joy : 

And  I  —  my  harp  would  prelude  woe  ■ 
I  cannot  all  command  the  strings ; 
The  glory  of  the  sun  of  things 

Will  flash  along  the  chords  and  go. 


LXXXIX. 

Witch-elms  that  counterchange  the  floor 
Of  this  flat  lawn  with  dusk  and  bright : 
And  thou,  with  all  thy  breadth  and  height 

Of  foliage,  towering  sycamore ; 

How  often,  hither  wandering  down, 
My  Arthur  found  your  shadows  fair, 
And  shook  to  all  the  liberal  air 

The  dust  and  din  and  steam  of  town : 

He  brought  an  eye  for  all  he  saw ; 

He  mixed  in  all  our  simple  sports; 

They  pleased  him,  fresh  from  brawling  courts 
And  dusty  purlieus  of  the  law. 

Oh,  joy  to  him  in  this  retreat, 

Immantled  in  ambrosial  dark, 

To  drink  the  cooler  air,  and  mark 
The  landscape  winking  thro'  the  heat : 

Oh,  sound  to  rout  the  brood  of  cares, 
The  sweep  of  scythe  in  morning  dew, 
The  gust  that  round  the  garden  flew, 

And  tumbled  half  the  mellowing  pears ! 


IN  MEMORIAM.  11\ 

Oh,  bliss,  when  all  in  circle  drawn 
About  him,  heart  and  ear  were  fed 
To  hear  him,  as  he  lay  and  read 

The  Tuscan  poets  on  the  lawn : 

Or  in  the  all-golden  afternoon 
A  guest,  or  happy  sister,  sung, 
Or  here  she  brought  the  harp  and  flung 

A  ballad  to  the  brightening  moon : 

Nor  less  it  pleased  in  livelier  moods, 
Beyond  the  bounding  hill  to  stray, 
And  break  the  livelong  summer  day 

With  banquet  in  the  distant  woods ; 

Whereat  we  glanced  from  theme  to  theme, 
Discussed  the  books  to  love  or  hate, 
Or  touched  the  changes  of  the  state, 

Or  threaded  some  Socratic  dream ; 

But  if  I  praised  the  busy  town, 

He  loved  to  rail  against  it  still, 

For  "  ground  in  yonder  social  mill 
We  rub  each  other's  angles  down, 

"And  merge,"  he  said,  "in  form  and  gloss 
The  picturesque  of  man  and  man." 
We  talked :  the  stream  beneath  us  ran, 

The  wine-flask  lying  couched  in  moss, 

Or  cooled  within  the  glooming  wave ; 

And  last,  returning  from  afar, 

Before  the  crimson-circled  star 
Had  fall'n  into  her  father's  grave, 


222  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

And  brushing  ankle-deep  in  flowers, 
We  heard  behind  the  woodbine  veil 
The  milk  that  bubbled  in  the  pail, 

And  buzzings  of  the  honeyed  hours. 

xc. 

He  tasted  love  with  half  his  mind, 
Nor  ever  drank  the  inviolate  spring 
Where  nighest  heaven,  who  first  could  fling 

This  bitter  seed  among  mankind ; 

That  could  the  dead,  whose  dying  eyes 
Were  closed  with  wail,  resume  their  life, 
They  would  but  find  in  child  and  wife 

An  iron  welcome  when  they  rise : 

'Twas  well,  indeed,  when  warm  with  wine, 
To  pledge  them  with  a  kindly  tear, 
To  talk  them  o'er,  to  wish  them  here, 

To  count  their  memories  half  divine ; 

But  if  they  came  who  passed  away, 
Behold  their  brides  in  other  hands; 
The  hard  heir  strides  about  their  lands, 

And  will  not  yield  them  for  a  day. 

Yea,  tho'  their  sons  were  none  of  these, 
Not  less  the  yet-loved  sire  would  make 
Confusion  worse  than  death,  and  shake 

The  pillars  of  domestic  peace. 

Ah  dear,  but  come  thou  back  to  me : 

Whatever  change  the  years  have  wrought, 
I  find  not  yet  one  lonely  thought 

That  cries  against  my  wish  for  thee; 


IN  MEMORIAM.  223 


XCI. 


When  rosy  plumelets  tuft  the  larch, 
And  rarely  pipes  the  mounted  thrush ; 
Or  underneath  the  barren  bush 

Flits  by  the  sea-blue  bird  of  March ; 

Come,  wear  the  form  by  which  I  know 
Thy  spirit  in  time  among  thy  peers, 
The  hope  of  unaccomplish'd  years 

Be  large  and  lucid  round  thy  brow. 

When  summer's  hourly-mellowing  change 
May  breathe,  with  many  roses  sweet, 
Upon  the  thousand  waves  of  wheat, 

That  ripple  round  the  lonely  grange ; 

Come :  not  in  watches  of  the  night, 

But  when  the  sunbeam  broodeth  warm, 
Come,  beauteous  in  thine  after  form, 

And  like  a  finer  light  in  light. 

xcn. 

If  any  vision  should  reveal 

Thy  likeness,  I  might  count  it  vain, 
As  but  the  canker  of  the  brain : 

Yea,  tho'  it  spake  and  made  appeal 

To  chances  where  our  lots  were  cast 
Together  in  the  days  behind, 
I  might  but  say,  I  hear  a  wind 

Of  memory  murmuring  the  past. 

Yea,  tho'  it  spake  and  bared  to  view 
A  fact  within  the  coming  year ; 


224  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

And  tho'  the  months,  revolving  near, 
Should  prove  the  phantom-warning  true, 

They  might  not  seem  thy  prophecies, 

But  spiritual  presentiments, 

And  such  refraction  of  events 
As  often  rises  ere  they  rise. 

XCIII. 

I  shall  not  see  thee.     Dare  I  say 
No  spirit  ever  brake  the  band 
That  stays  him  from  the  native  land, 

Where  first  he  walked  when  clasped  in  clay  ? 

No  visual  shade  of  some  one  lost, 
But  he,  the  Spirit  himself,  may  come 
Where  all  the  nerve  of  sense  is  numb ; 

Spirit  to  Spirit,  Ghost  to  Ghost. 

Oh,  therefore,  from  thy  sightless  range 
With  gods  in  unconjectured  bliss, 
Oh,  from  the  distance  of  the  abyss 

Of  tenfold-complicated  change, 

Descend,  and  touch,  and  enter ;  hear 
The  wish  too  strong  for  words  to  name ; 
That  in  this  blindness  of  the  frame 

My  ghost  may  feel  that  thine  is  near. 

xciv. 

How  pure  at  heart  and  sound  in  head, 
With  what  divine  affections  bold 
Should  be  the  man  whose  thought  would  hold 

An  hour's  communion  with  the  dead. 


IN  MEMORIAM.  225 

In  vain  shalt  thou,  or  any,  call 
The  spirits  from  their  golden  day, 
Except,  like  them,  thou  too  canst  say, 

My  spirit  is  at  peace  with  all. 

They  haunt  the  silence  of  the  breast, 

Imaginations  calm  and  fair, 

The  memory  like  a  cloudless  air, 
The  conscience  as  a  sea  at  rest : 

But  when  the  heart  is  full  of  din, 
And  doubt  beside  the  portal  waits, 
They  can  but  listen  at  the  gates, 

And  hear  the  household  jar  within. 

xcv. 

By  night  we  lingered  on  the  lawn, 

For  underfoot  the  herb  was  dry ; 

And  genial  warmth ;  and  o'er  the  sky 
The  silvery  haze  of  summer  drawn ; 

And  calm  that  let  the  tapers  burn 
Unwavering :  not  a  cricket  chirred ; 
The  brook  alone  far  off  was  heard, 

And  on  the  board  the  fluttering  urn : 

And  bats  went  round  in  fragrant  skies, 
And  wheeled  or  lit  the  filmy  shapes 
That  haunt  the  dusk,  with  ermine  capes 

And  woolly  breasts  and  beaded  eyes ; 

While  now  we  sang  old  songs  that  pealed 
From  knoll  to  knoll,  where,  couched  at  ease, 


226  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

The  white  kine  glimmer'd,  and  the  trees 
Laid  their  dark  arms  about  the  field. 

But  when  those  others,  one  by  one, 

Withdrew  themselves  from  me  and  night, 
And  in  the  house  light  after  light 

Went  out,  and  I  was  all  alone, 

A  hunger  seized  my  heart ;  I  read 

Of  that  glad  year  which  once  had  been, 

In  those  fall'n  leaves  which  kept  their  green, 

The  noble  letters  of  the  dead : 

And  strangely  on  the  silence  broke 

The  silent-speaking  words,  and  strange 
Was  love's  dumb  cry  defying  change 

To  test  his  worth ;  and  strangely  spoke 

The  faith,  the  vigor,  bold  to  dwell 

On  doubts  that  drive  the  coward  back, 
And  keen  thro*  wordy  snares  to  track 

Suggestion  to  her  inmost  cell. 

So  word  by  word,  and  line  by  line, 

The  dead  man  touched  me  from  the  past, 
And  all  at  once  it  seemed  at  last 

His  living  soul  was  flashed  on  mine, 

And  mine  in  his  was  wound,  and  whirled 
About  empyreal  heights  of  thought, 
And  came  on  that  which  is,  and  caught 

The  deep  pulsations  of  the  world, 

Ionian  music  measuring  out  ' 

The  steps  of  Time,  the  shocks  of  Chance, 


IN  MEMORIAM.  227 

The  blows  of  Death.     At  length  my  trance 
Was  cancelled,  stricken  thro'  with  doubt. 

Vague  words !  but  ah,  how  hard  to  frame 
In  matter-moulded  forms  of  speech, 
Or  ev'n  for  intellect  to  reach 

Thro'  memory  that  which  I  became : 

Till  now  the  doubtful  dusk  revealed 

The  knoll  once  more  where,  couched  at  ease, 
The  white  kine  glimmer'd,  and  the  trees 

Laid  their  dark  arms  about  the  field : 

And,  sucked  from  out  the  distant  gloom, 

A  breeze  began  to  tremble  o'er 

The  large  leaves  of  the  sycamore, 
And  fluctuate  all  the  still  perfume, 

And  gathering  freshlier  overhead, 

Rocked  the  full-foliaged  elms,  and  swung 
The  heavy-folded  rose,  and  flung 

The  lilies  to  and  fro,  and  said 

"The  dawn,  the  dawn  !  "  and  died  away; 
And  East  and  West,  without  a  breath, 
Mixed  their  dim  lights,  like  life  and  death, 

To  broaden  into  boundless  day. 

xcvi. 

You  say,  but  with  no  touch  of  scorn, 

Sweet-hearted,  you,  whose  light  blue  eyes 
Are  tender  over  drowning  flies, 

You  tell  me,  doubt  is  devil-born. 


228  THE  BOOK  OF  ELEGIES. 

I  know  not :  one  indeed  I  knew 
In  many  a  subtle  question  versed, 
Who  touched  a  jarring  lyre  at  first, 

But  ever  strove  to  make  it  true : 

Perplexed  in  faith,  but  pure  in  deeds, 

At  last  he  beat  his  music  out. 

There  lives  more  faith  in  honest  doubt, 
Believe  me,  than  in  half  the  creeds. 

He  fought  his  doubts  and  gathered  strength, 
He  would  not  make  his  judgment  blind, 
He  faced  the  spectres  of  the  mind 

And  laid  them :  thus  he  came  at  length 

To  find  a  stronger  faith  his  own  ; 

And  power  was  with  him  in  the  night, 
Which  makes  the  darkness  and  the  light, 

And  dwells  not  in  the  light  alone, 

But  in  the  darkness  and  the  cloud, 
As  over  Sinai's  peaks  of  old, 
While  Israel  made  their  gods  of  gold, 

Altho'  the  trumpet  blew  so  loud. 

xcvu. 

My  love  has  talked  with  rocks  and  trees ; 
He  finds  on  misty  mountain-ground 
His  own  vast  shadow  glory-crowned ; 

He  sees  himself  in  all  he  sees. 

Two  partners  of  a  married  life  — 

I  looked  on  these  and  thought  of  thee 
In  vastness  and  in  mystery, 

And  of  my  spirit  as  of  a  wife. 


IN  MEMORIAM.  119 

These  two  —  they  dwelt  with  eye  on  eye, 
Their  hearts  of  old  have  beat  in  tune, 
Their  meetings  made  December  June, 

Their  every  parting  was  to  die. 

Their  love  has  never  passed  away ; 

The  days  she  never  can  forget 

Are  earnest  that  he  loves  her  yet, 
Whate'er  the  faithless  people  say. 

Her  life  is  lone,  he  sits  apart, 

He  loves  her  yet,  she  will  not  weep, 
Tho'  rapt  in  matters  dark  and  deep 

He  seems  to  slight  her  simple  heart. 

He  threads  the  labyrinth  of  the  mind, 

He  reads  the  secret  of  the  star, 

He  seems  so  near  and  yet  so  far, 
He  looks  so  cold :  she  thinks  him  kind. 

She  keeps  the  gift  of  years  before, 

A  withered  violet  is  her  bliss ; 

She  knows  not  what  his  greatness  is : 
For  that,  for  all,  she  loves  him  more. 

For  him  she  plays,  to  him  she  sings 

Of  early  faith  and  plighted  vows; 

She  knows  but  matters  of  the  house, 
And  he,  he  knows  a  thousand  things. 

Her  faith  is  fixed  and  cannot  move, 
She  darkly  feels  him  great  and  wise, 
She  dwells  on  him  with  faithful  eyes, 

"  I  cannot  understand  ;  I  love." 


230  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

XCVIII. 

You  leave  us :  you  will  see  the  Rhine, 
And  those  fair  hills  I  sailed  below, 
When  I  was  there  with  him  ;  and  go 

By  summer  belts  of  wheat  and  vine 

To  where  he  breathed  his  latest  breath 
That  city.     All  her  splendor  seems 
No  livelier  than  the  wisp  that  gleams 

On  Lethe  in  the  eyes  of  Death. 

Let  her  great  Danube  rolling  fair 
Enwind  her  isles,  unmarked  of  me : 
I  have  not  seen,  I  will  not  see 

Vienna ;  rather  dream  that  there, 

A  treble  darkness,  Evil  haunts 

The  birth,  the  bridal ;  friend  from  friend 
Is  oftener  parted,  fathers  bend 

Above  more  graves,  a  thousand  wants 

Gnarr  at  the  heels  of  men,  and  prey 
By  each  cold  hearth,  and  sadness  flings 
Her  shadow  on  the  blaze  of  kings : 

And  yet  myself  have  heard  him  say, 

That  not  in  any  mother  town 

With  statelier  progress  to  and  fro 
The  double  tides  of  chariots  flow 

By  park  and  suburb  under  brown 

Of  lustier  leaves  ;  no  more  content, 
He  told  me,  lives  in  any  crowd, 
When  all  is  gay  with  lamps,  and  loud 

With  sport  and  song,  in  booth  and  tent, 


IN  MEMORIAM.  231 

Imperial  halls,  or  open  plain ; 

And  wheels  the  circled  dance,  and  breaks 

The  rocket  molten  into  flakes 
Of  crimson  or  in  emerald  rain. 

'  XCIX. 

Risest  thou  thus,  dim  dawn,  again, 
So  loud  with  voices  of  the  birds, 
So  thick  with  lowing  of  the  herds, 

Day,  when  I  lost  the  flower  of  men ; 

Who  tremblest  thro*  thy  darkling  red 
On  yon  swoll'n  brook  that  bubbles  fast 
By  meadows  breathing  of  the  past, 

And  woodlands  holy  to  the  dead ; 

Who  murmurest  in  the  foliaged  eaves 
A  song  that  slights  the  coming  care, 
And  Autumn  laying  here  and  there 

A  fiery  finger  on  the  leaves ; 

Who  wakenest  with  thy  balmy  breath 

To  myriads  on  the  genial  earth, 

Memories  of  bridal,  or  of  birth, 
And  unto  myriads  more,  of  death. 

Oh,  wheresoever  those  may  be, 
Betwixt  the  slumber  of  the  poles, 
To-day  they  count  as  kindred  souls ; 

They  know  me  not,  but  mourn  with  me. 


I  climb  the  hill ;  from  end  to  end 
Of  all  the  landscape  underneath, 


232  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

I  find  no  place  that  does  not  breathe 
Some  gracious  memory  of  my  friend ; 

No  gray  old  grange,  or  lonely  fold, 
Or  low  morass  and  whispering  reed, 
Or  simple  stile  from  mead  to  mead, 

Or  sheep  walk  up  the  windy  wold ; 

Nor  hoary  knoll  of  ash  and  haw 
That  hears  the  latest  linnet  trill, 
Nor  quarry  trenched  along  the  hill, 

And  haunted  by  the  wrangling  daw ; 

Nor  runlet  tinkling  from  the  rock ; 
Nor  pastoral  rivulet  that  swerves 
To  left  and  right  thro*  meadowy  curves, 

That  feed  the  mothers  of  the  flock ; 

But  each  has  pleased  a  kindred  eye, 
And  each  reflects  a  kindlier  day ; 
And,  leaving  these,  to  pass  away, 

I  think  once  more  he  seems  to  die. 


ci. 

Unwatched,  the  garden  bough  shall  sway, 
The  tender  blossom  flutter  down 
Unloved,  that  beech  will  gather  brown, 

This  maple  burn  itself  away ; 

Unloved,  the  sun-flower,  shining  fair, 
Ray  round  with  flames  her  disk  of  seed, 
And  many  a  rose-carnation  feed 

With  summer  spice  the  humming  air ; 


IN  MEMORIAM.  233 

Unloved,  by  many  a  sandy  bar, 

The  brook  shall  babble  down  the  plain, 
At  noon,  or  when  the  lesser  wain 

Is  twisting  round  the  polar  star ; 

Uncared  for,  gird  the  windy  grove, 

And  flood  the  haunts  of  hern  and  crake ; 
Or  into  silver  arrows  break 

The  sailing  moon  in  creek  and  cove ; 

Till  from  the  garden  and  the  wild 

A  fresh  association  blow, 

And  year  by  year  the  landscape  grow 
Familiar  to  the  stranger's  child  ; 

As  year  by  year  the  laborer  tills 

His  wonted  glebe,  or  lops  the  glades ; 
And  year  by  year  our  memory  fades 

From  all  the  circle  of  the  hills. 

en. 

We  leave  the  well-beloved  place 

Where  first  we  gazed  upon  the  sky ; 
The  roofs,  that  heard  our  earliest  cry, 

Will  shelter  one  of  stranger  race. 

We  go,  but  ere  we  go  from  home, 
As  down  the  garden-walks  I  move, 
Two  spirits  of  a  diverse  love 

Contend  for  loving  masterdom. 

One  whispers,  "  Here  thy  boyhood  sung 
Long  since  its  matin  song,  and  heard 


234  THE   BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

The  low  love-language  of  the  bird 
In  native  hazels  tassel-hung." 

The  other  answers,  "  Yea,  but  here 
Thy  feet  have  strayed  in  after  hours 
With  thy  lost  friend  among  the  bowers, 

And  this  hath  made  them  trebly  dear." 

These  two  have  striven  half  the  day, 
And  each  prefers  his  separate  claim, 
Poor  rivals  in  a  losing  game, 

That  will  not  yield  each  other  way. 

I  turn  to  go ;  my  feet  are  set 

To  leave  the  pleasant  fields  and  farms; 

They  mix  in  one  another's  arms 
To  one  pure  image  of  regret. 

cm. 

On  that  last  night  before  we  went 

From  out  the  doors  where  I  was  bred, 
I  dreamed  a  vision  of  the  dead, 

Which  left  my  after-morn  content. 

Methought  I  dwelt  within  a  hall, 
And  maidens  with  me :  distant  hills 
From  hidden  summits  fed  with  rills 

A  river  sliding  by  the  wall. 

The  hall  with  harp  and  carol  rang. 
They  sang  of  what  is  wise  and  good 
And  graceful.     In  the  centre  stood 

A  statue  veiled,  to  which  they  sang  ; 


IN  MEMORIAM.  235 

And  which,  tho'  veil'd,  was  known  to  me, 
The  shape  of  him  I  loved,  and  love 
For  ever :  then  flew  in  a  dove 

And  brought  a  summons  from  the  sea : 

And  when  they  learned  that  I  must  go 
They  wept  and  wailed,  but  led  the  way 
To  where  a  little  shallop  lay 

At  anchor  in  the  flood  below ; 

And  on  by  many  a  level  mead, 

And  shadowing  bluff  that  made  the  banks, 

We  glided  winding  under  ranks 
Of  iris,  and  the  golden  reed ; 

And  still  as  vaster  grew  the  shore, 

And  rolled  the  floods  in  grander  space, 
The  maidens  gathered  strength  and  grace 

And  presence,  lordlier  than  before ; 

And  I  myself,  who  sat  apart 

And  watch'd  them,  waxed  in  every  limb ; 

I  felt  the  thews  of  Anakim, 
The  pulses  of  a  Titan's  heart ; 

As  one  would  sing  the  death  of  war, 
And  one  would  chant  the  history 
Of  that  great  race,  which  is  to  be, 

And  one  the  shaping  of  a  star ; 

Until  the  forward-creeping  tides 
Began  to  foam,  and  we  to  draw 
From  deep  to  deep,  to  where  we  saw 

A  great  ship  lift  her  shining  sides. 


236  THE  BOOK  OF  ELEGIES. 

The  man  we  loved  was  there  on  deck, 
But  thrice  as  large  as  man  he  bent 
To  greet  us.     Up  the  side  I  went, 

And  fell  in  silence  on  his  neck : 

Whereat  those  maidens  with  one  mind 
Bewailed  their  lot ;  I  did  them  wrong : 
"  We  served  thee  here,"  they  said,  "  so  long, 

And  wilt  thou  leave  us  now  behind  ? " 

So  rapt  I  was,  they  could  not  win 
An  answer  from  my  lips,  but  he 
Replying  "  Enter  likewise  ye 

And  go  with  us  :  "  they  entered  in. 

And  while  the  wind  began  to  sweep 
A  music  out  of  sheet  and  shroud, 
We  steered  her  toward  a  crimson  cloud 

That  land-like  slept  along  the  deep. 

civ. 
The  time  draws  near  the  birth  of  Christ ; 

The  moon  is  hid,  the  night  is  still ; 

A  single  church  below  the  hill 
Is  pealing,  folded  in  the  mist. 

A  single  peal  of  bells  below, 

That  wakens  at  this  hour  of  rest 
A  single  murmur  in  the  breast, 

That  these  are  not  the  bells  I  know. 

Like  strangers'  voices  here  they  sound, 
In  lands  where  not  a  memory  strays, 
Nor  landmark  breathes  of  other  days, 

But  all  is  new  unhallowed  ground. 


IN  MEMORIAM.  237 

CV. 

To-night  ungathered  let  us  leave 
This  laurel,  let  this  holly  stand : 
We  live  within  the  stranger's  land, 

And  strangely  falls  our  Christmas  eve. 

Our  father's  dust  is  left  alone 
And  silent  under  other  snows : 
There  in  due  time  the  woodbine  blows, 

The  violet  comes,  but  we  are  gone. 

No  more  shall  wayward  grief  abuse 
The  genial  hour  with  mask  and  mime ; 
For  change  of  place,  like  growth  of  time, 

Has  broke  the  bond  of  dying  use. 

Let  cares  that  petty  shadows  cast, 
By  which  our  lives  are  chiefly  proved, 
A  little  spare  the  night  I  loved, 

And  hold  it  solemn  to  the  past. 

But  let  no  footsteps  beat  the  floor, 

Nor  bowl  of  wassail  mantle  warm ; 

For  who  would  keep  an  ancient  form 
Thro'  which  the  spirit  breathes  no  more  ? 

Be  neither  song,  nor  game,  nor  feast ; 

Nor  harp  be  touched,  nor  flute  be  blown ; 

No  dance,  no  motion,  save  alone 
What  lightens  in  the  lucid  east 

Of  rising  worlds  by  yonder  wood. 

Long  sleeps  the  summer  in  the  seed ; 

Run  out  your  measured  arcs,  and  lead 
The  closing  cycle  rich  in  good. 


238  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

CVI. 

Ring  out,  wild  bells,  to  the  wild  sky, 
The  flying  cloud,  the  frosty  light : 
The  year  is  dying  in  the  night : 

Ring  out,  wild  bells,  and  let  him  die. 

Ring  out  the  old,  ring  in  the  new, 
Ring,  happy  bells,  across  the  snow : 
The  year  is  going,  let  him  go ; 

Ring  out  the  false,  ring  in  the  true. 

Ring  out  the  grief  that  saps  the  mind, 
For  those  that  here  we  see  no  more ; 
Ring  out  the  feud  of  rich  and  poor, 

Ring  in  redress  to  all  mankind. 

Ring  out  a  slowly  dying  cause, 
And  ancient  forms  of  party  strife ; 
Ring  in  the  nobler  modes  of  life, 

With  sweeter  manners,  purer  laws. 

Ring  out  the  want,  the  care,  the  sin, 
The  faithless  coldness  of  the  times ; 
Ring  out,  ring  out  my  mournful  rhymes, 

But  ring  the  fuller  minstrel  in. 

Ring  out  false  pride  in  place  and  blood, 
The  civic  slander  and  the  spite ; 
Ring  in  the  love  of  truth  and  right, 

Ring  in  the  common  love  of  good. 

Ring  out  old  shapes  of  foul  disease ; 

Ring  out  the  narrowing  lust  of  gold ; 

Ring  out  the  thousand  wars  of  old, 
Ring  in  the  thousand  years  of  peace. 


IN  MEMORIAM.  239 

Ring  in  the  valiant  man  and  free, 
The  larger  heart,  the  kindlier  hand ; 
Ring  out  the  darkness  of  the  land, 

Ring  in  the  Christ  that  is  to  be. 

cyn. 
It  is  the  day  when  he  was  born, 

A  bitter  day  that  early  sank 

Behind  a  purple-frosty  bank 
Of  vapor,  leaving  night  forlorn. 

The  time  admits  not  flowers  or  leaves 
To  deck  the  banquet.     Fiercely  flies 
The  blast  of  North  and  East,  and  ice 

Makes  daggers  at  the  sharpened  eaves, 

And  bristles  all  the  brakes  and  thorns 
To  yon  hard  crescent,  as  she  hangs 
About  the  wood  which  grides  and  clangs 

Its  leafless  ribs  and  iron  horns 

Together  in  the  drifts  that  pass 

To  darken  on  the  rolling  brine 

That  breaks  the  coast.     But  fetch  the  wine, 
Arrange  the  board  and  brim  the  glass ; 

Bring  in  great  logs  and  let  them  lie, 

To  make  a  solid  core  of  heat ; 

Be  cheerful-minded,  talk  and  treat 
Of  all  things  ev'n  as  he  were  by ; 

We  keep  the  day.     With  festal  cheer, 

With  books  and  music,  surely  we 

Will  drink  to  him,  whate'er  he  be, 
And  sing  the  songs  he  loved  to  hear. 


240  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

CVIII. 

I  will  not  shut  me  from  my  kind, 
And,  lest  I  stiffen  into  stone, 
I  will  not  eat  my  heart  alone, 

Nor  feed  with  sighs  a  passing  wind : 

What  profit  lies  in  barren  faith, 

And  vacant  yearning,  tho'  with  might 
To  scale  the  heaven's  highest  height, 

Or  dive  below  the  wells  of  Death  ? 

What  find  I  in  the  highest  place, 

But  mine  own  phantom  chanting  hymns  ? 
And  on  the  depths  of  death  there  swims 

The  reflex  of  a  human  face. 

I'll  rather  take  what  fruit  may  be 
Of  sorrow  under  human  skies : 
'Tis  held  that  sorrow  makes  us  wise, 

Whatever  wisdom  sleep  with  thee. 

cix. 

Heart-affluence  in  discursive  talk 

From  household  fountains  never  dry ; 
The  critic  clearness  of  an  eye, 

That  saw  thro'  all  the  Muses'  walk ; 

Seraphic  intellect  and  force 

To  seize  and  throw  the  doubts  of  man ; 

Impassioned  logic,  which  outran 
The  hearer  in  its  fiery  course; 

High  nature  amorous  of  the  good, 
But  touched  with  no  ascetic  gloom ; 


IN  MEMORTAM.  241 

And  passion  pure  in  snowy  bloom 
Thro'  all  the  years  of  April  blood; 

A  love  of  freedom  rarely  felt, 
Of  freedom  in  her  regal  seat 
Of  England ;  not  the  schoolboy  heat, 

The  blind  hysterics  of  the  Celt ; 

And  manhood  fused  with  female  grace 
In  such  a  sort,  the  child  would  twine 
A  trustful  hand,  unasked,  in  thine, 

And  find  his  comfort  in  thy  face ; 

All  these  have  been,  and  thee  mine  eyes 
Have  looked  on :  if  they  looked  in  vain, 
My  shame  is  greater  who  remain, 

Nor  let  thy  wisdom  make  me  wise. 

ex. 

Thy  converse  drew  us  with  delight, 
The  men  of  rathe  and  riper  years : 
The  feeble  soul  a  haunt  of  fears, 

Forgot  his  weakness  in  thy  sight. 

On  thee  the  loyal-hearted  hung, 

The  proud  was  half  disarmed  of  pride, 
Nor  cared  the  serpent  at  thy  side 

To  flicker  with  his  double  tongue. 

The  stern  were  mild  when  thou  wert  by, 
The  flippant  put  himself  to  school 
And  heard  thee,  and  the  brazen  fool 

Was  softened,  and  he  knew  not  why ; 


242  THE  BOOK  OF  ELEGIES. 

While  I,  thy  dearest,  sat  apart, 

And  felt  thy  triumph  was  as  mine ; 

And  loved  them  more,  that  they  were  thine, 

The  graceful  tact,  the  Christian  art ; 

Not  mine  the  sweetness  or  the  skill, 
But  mine  the  love  that  will  not  tire, 
And,  born  of  love,  the  vague  desire 

That  spurs  an  imitative  will. 

CXI. 

The  churl  in  spirit,  up  or  down 
Along  the  scale  of  ranks,  thro*  all, 
To  him  who  grasps  a  golden  ball, 

By  blood  a  king,  at  heart  a  clown ; 

The  churl  in  spirit,  howe'er  he  veil 
His  want  in  forms  for  fashion's  sake 
Will  let  his  coltish  nature  break 

At  seasons  thro'  the  gilded  pale : 

For  who  can  always  act  ?  but  he, 
To  whom  a  thousand  memories  call, 
Not  being  less  but  more  than  all 

The  gentleness  he  seemed  to  be, 

Best  seemed  the  thing  he  was,  and  joined 
Each  office  of  the  social  hour 
To  noble  manners,  as  the  flower 

And  native  growth  of  noble  mind ; 

Nor  ever  narrowness  or  spite, 
Or  villain  fancy  fleeting  by, 
Drew  in  the  expression  of  an  eye, 

Where  God  and  Nature  met  in  light; 


IN  MEMORIAM.  243 

And  thus  he  bore  without  abuse 
The  grand  old  name  of  gentleman, 
Defamed  by  every  charlatan, 

And  soiled  with  all  ignoble  use. 

cxn. 

High  wisdom  holds  my  wisdom  less, 
That  I,  who  gaze  with  temperate  eyes 
On  glorious  insufficiencies, 

Set  light  by  narrow  perfectness. 

But  thou,  that  fillest  all  the  room 

Of  all  my  love,  art  reason  why 

I  seem  to  cast  a  careless  eye 
On  souls,  the  lesser  lords  of  doom. 

For  what  wert  thou  ?  some  novel  power 
Sprang  up  for  ever  at  a  touch, 
And  hope  could  never  hope  too  much, 

In  watching  thee  from  hour  to  hour, 

Large  elements  in  order  brought, 

And  tracts  of  calm  from  tempest  made, 
And  world-wide  fluctuation  swayed, 

In  vassal  tides  that  followed  thought. 

CXIII. 

'Tis  held  that  sorrow  makes  us  wise ; 

Yet  how  much  wisdom  sleeps  with  thee 

Which  not  alone  had  guided  me, 
But  served  the  seasons  that  may  rise ; 

For  can  I  doubt,  who  knew  the  keen 
In  intellect,  with  force  and  skill 


244  THE  BOOK  OF  ELEGIES. 

To  strive,  to  fashion,  to  fulfil  — 
I  doubt  not  what  thou  wouldst  have  been : 

A  life  in  civic  action  warm, 

A  soul  on  highest  mission  sent, 
A  potent  voice  of  Parliament, 

A  pillar  steadfast  in  the  storm, 

Should  licensed  boldness  gather  force, 
Becoming,  when  the  time  has  birth, 
A  lever  to  uplift  the  earth 

And  roll  it  in  another  course, 

With  thousand  shocks  that  come  and  go, 
With  agonies,  with  energies, 
With  overthrowings,  and  with  cries, 

And  undulations  to  and  fro. 

cxiv. 

Who  loves  not  Knowledge  ?    Who  shall  rail 
Against  her  beauty  ?     May  she  mix 
With  men  and  prosper !     Who  shall  fix 

Her  pillars  ?     Let  her  work  prevail. 

But  on  her  forehead  sits  a  fire : 
She  sets  her  forward  countenance 
And  leaps  into  the  future  chance, 

Submitting  all  things  to  desire. 

Half-grown  as  yet,  a  child,  and  vain  — 
She  cannot  fight  the  fear  of  death. 
What  is  she,  cut  from  love  and  faith, 

But  some  wild  Pallas  from  the  brain 


IN  MEMORIAM.  245 

Of  demons  ?  fiery-hot  to  burst 
All  barriers  in  her  onward  race 
For  power.     Let  her  know  her  place ; 

She  is  the  second,  not  the  first. 

A  higher  hand  must  make  her  mild, 
If  all  be  not  in  vain ;  and  guide 
Her  footsteps,  moving  side  by  side 

With  wisdom,  like  the  younger  child : 

For  she  is  earthly  of  the  mind, 

But  Wisdom  heavenly  of  the  soul. 

O  friend,  who  earnest  to  thy  goal 
So  early,  leaving  me  behind, 

I  would  the  great  world  grew  like  thee, 
Who  grewest  not  alone  in  power 
And  knowledge,  but  by  year  and  hour 

In  reverence  and  in  charity. 

cxv. 

Now  fades  the  last  long  streak  of  snow, 
Now  bourgeons  every  maze  of  quick 
About  the  flowering  squares,  and  thick 

By  ashen  roots  the  violets  blow. 

Now  rings  the  woodland  loud  and  long, 
The  distance  takes  a  lovelier  hue, 
And  drowned  in  yonder  living  blue 

The  lark  becomes  a  sightless  song. 

Now  dance  the  lights  on  lawn  and  lea, 
The  flocks  are  whiter  down  the  vale, 
And  milkier  every  milky  sail 

On  winding  stream  or  distant  sea ; 


246  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

Where  now  the  seamew  pipes,  or  dives 
In  yonder  greening  gleam,  and  fly 
The  happy  birds,  that  change  their  sky 

To  build  and  brood ;  that  live  their  lives 

From  land  to  land ;  and  in  my  breast 
Spring  wakens  too  ;  and  my  regret 
Becomes  an  April  violet, 

And  buds  and  blossoms  like  the  rest. 

cxvi. 

Is  it,  then,  regret  for  buried  time 
That  keenlier  in  sweet  April  wakes, 
And  meets  the  year,  and  gives  and  takes 

The  colors  of  the  crescent  prime  ? 

Not  all :  the  songs,  the  stirring  air, 
The  life  re-orient  out  of  dust, 
Cry  thro'  the  sense  to  hearten  trust 

In  that  which  made  the  world  so  fair. 

Not  all  regret ;  the  face  will  shine 
Upon  me,  while  I  muse  alone ; 
And  that  dear  voice,  I  once  have  known, 

Still  speak  to  me  of  me  and  mine  : 

Yet  less  of  sorrow  lives  in  me 

For  days  of  happy  commune  dead ; 
Less  yearning  for  the  friendship  fled 

Than  some  strong  bond  which  is  to  be. 

cxvu. 

O  days  and  hours,  your  work  is  this, 
To  hold  me  from  my  proper  place, 


IN  MEMORIAM.  247 

A  little  while  from  his  embrace, 
For  fuller  gain  of  after  bliss : 

That  out  of  distance  might  ensue 

Desire  of  nearness  doubly  sweet ; 

And  unto  meeting  when  we  meet, 
Delight  a  hundredfold  accrue, 

For  every  grain  of  sand  that  runs, 
And  every  span  of  shade  that  steals, 
And  every  kiss  of  toothed  wheels, 

And  all  the  courses  of  the  suns. 

cxvm. 

Contemplate  all  this  work  of  Time, 

The  giant  laboring  in  his  youth ; 

Nor  dream  of  human  love  and  truth, 
As  dying  nature's  earth  and  lime ; 

But  trust  that  those  we  call  the  dead 

Are  breathers  of  an  ampler  day 

For  ever  nobler  ends.     They  say, 
The  solid  earth  whereon  we  tread 

In  tracts  of  fluent  heat  began, 

And  grew  to  seeming-random  forms, 
The  seeming  prey  of  cyclic  storms, 

Till  at  the  last  arose  the  man ; 

Who  throve  and  branched  from  clime  to  clime, 

The  herald  of  a  higher  race, 

And  of  himself  in  higher  place 
If  so  he  type  this  work  of  time 


248  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

Within  himself,  from  more  to  more, 
Or,  crowned  with  attributes  of  woe 
Like  glories,  move  his  course  and  show 

That  life  is  not  as  idle  ore, 

But  iron  dug  from  central  gloom, 
And  heated  hot  with  burning  fears, 
And  dipped  in  baths  of  hissing  tears, 

And  battered  with  the  shocks  of  doom 

To  shape  and  use.     Arise  and  fly 
The  reeling  Faun,  the  sensual  feast ; 
Move  upward,  working  out  the  beast ; 

And  let  the  ape  and  tiger  die. 

cxix. 

Doors,  where  my  heart  was  used  to  beat 
So  quickly,  not  as  one  that  weeps 
I  come  once  more ;  the  city  sleeps ; 

I  smell  the  meadow  in  the  street ; 

I  hear  a  chirp  of  birds ;  I  see 

Betwixt  the  black  fronts  long-withdrawn 
A  light-blue  lane  of  early  dawn, 

And  think  of  early  days  and  thee, 

And  bless  thee,  for  thy  lips  are  bland 
And  bright  the  friendship  of  thine  eye ; 
And  in  my  thoughts  with  scarce  a  sigh 

I  take  the  pressure  of  thine  hand. 

cxx. 

I  trust  I  have  not  wasted  breath : 
I  think  we  are  not  wholly  brain, 


IN  MEMORIAM.  249 

Magnetic  mockeries ;  not  in  vain, 
Like  Paul  with  beasts,  I  fought  with  Death ; 

Not  only  cunning  casts  in  clay : 

Let  Science  prove  we  are,  and  then 
What  matters  Science  unto  men, 

At  least  to  me  ?     I  would  not  stay. 

Let  him,  the  wiser  man  who  springs 
Hereafter,  up  from  childhood  shape 
His  action  like  the  greater  ape, 

But  I  was  born  to  other  things. 

cxxi. 

Sad  Hesper  o'er  the  buried  sun 

And  ready,  thou,  to  die  with  him, 

Thou  watchest  all  things  ever  dim 
And  dimmer,  and  a  glory  done : 

The  team  is  loosened  from  the  wain, 
The  boat  is  drawn  upon  the  shore ; 
Thou  listenest  to  the  closing  door, 

And  life  is  darkened  in  the  brain. 

Bright  Phosphor,  fresher  for  the  night, 
By  thee  the  world's  great  work -is  heard 
Beginning,  and  the  wakeful  bird ; 

Behind  thee  comes  the  greater  light : 

The  market  boat  is  on  the  stream, 

And  voices  hail  it  from  the  brink ; 

Thou  hear'st  the  village  hammer  clink, 
And  see'st  the  moving  of  the  team. 


250  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

Sweet  Hesper-Phosphor,  double  name 
For  what  is  one,  the  first,  the  last, 
Thou,  like  my  present  and  my  past, 

Thy  place  is  changed ;  thou  art  the  same. 

CXXII. 

Oh,  wast  thou  with  me,  dearest,  then, 
While  I  rose  up  against  my  doom, 
And  yearned  to  burst  the  folded  gloom, 

To  bare  the  eternal  Heavens  again, 

To  feel  once  more,  in  placid  awe, 
The  strong  imagination  roll 
A  sphere  of  stars  about  my  soul, 

In  all  her  motion  one  with  law ; 

If  thou  wert  with  me,  and  the  grave 
Divide  us  not,  be  with  me  now, 
And  enter  in  at  breast  and  brow, 

Till  all  my  blood,  a  fuller  wave, 

Be  quickened  with  a  livelier  breath, 
And  like  an  inconsiderate  boy, 
As  in  the  former  flash  of  joy, 

I  slip  the  thoughts  of  life  and  death ; 

And  all  the  breeze  of  Fancy  blows, 
And  every  dew-drop  paints  a  bow, 
The  wizard  lightnings  deeply  glow, 

And  every  thought  breaks  out  a  rose. 

cxxlu. 

There  rolls  the  deep  where  grew  the  tree. 
O  earth,  what  changes  hast  thou  seen ! 


IN  MEMORIAM.  251 

There  where  the  long  street  roars,  hath  been 
The  stillness  of  the  central  sea. 

The  hills  are  shadows,  and  they  flow 
From  form  to  form,  and  nothing  stands; 
They  melt  like  mist,  the  solid  lands, 

Like  clouds  they  shape  themselves  and  go. 

But  in  my  spirit  will  I  dwell, 

And  dream  my  dream,  and  hold  it  true ; 

For  tho'  my  lips  may  breathe  adieu, 
I  cannot  think  the  thing  farewell. 

cxxiv. 

That  which  we  dare  invoke  to  bless ; 

Our  dearest  faith ;  our  ghastliest  doubt ; 

He,  They,  One,  All ;  within,  without ; 
The  Power  in  darkness  whom  we  guess; 

I  found  Him  not  in  world  or  sun, 

Or  eagle's  wing,  or  insect's  eye ; 

Nor  thro'  the  questions  men  may  try, 
The  petty  cobwebs  we  have  spun : 

If  e'er  when  faith  had  fall'n  asleep, 
I  heard  a  voice  "  believe  no  more  " 
And  heard  an  ever  breaking  shore 

That  tumbled  in  the  Godless  deep  ; 

A  warmth  within  the  breast  would  melt 
The  freezing  reason's  colder  part, 
And  like  a  man  in  wrath  the  heart 

Stood  up  and  answered  "  I  have  felt." 


252  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

No,  like  a  child  in  doubt  and  fear : 
But  that  blind  clamor  made  me  wise; 
Then  was  I  as  a  child  that  cries, 

But,  crying,  knows  his  father  near ; 

And  what  I  am  beheld  again 

What  is,  and  no  man  understands ; 
And  out  of  darkness  came  the  hands 

That  reach  thro'  nature,  moulding  men. 

cxxv. 

Whatever  I  have  said  or  sung, 

Some  bitter  notes  my  harp  would  give, 
Yea,  tho'  there  often  seem'd  to  live 

A  contradiction  on  the  tongue, 

Yet  Hope  had  never  lost  her  youth ; 

She  did  but  look  through  dimmer  eyes ; 

Or  Love  but  played  with  gracious  lies, 
Because  he  felt  so  fixed  in  truth : 

And  if  the  song  were  full  of  care, 
He  breathed  the  spirit  of  the  song ; 
And  if  the  words  were  sweet  and  strong, 

He  set  his  royal  signet  there ; 

Abiding  with  me  till  I  sail 

To  seek  thee  on  the  mystic  deeps, 
And  this  electric  force,  that  keeps 

A  thousand  pulses  dancing,  fail. 

cxxvi. 

Love  is  and  was  my  lord  and  king, 
And  in  his  presence  I  attend 


IN  MEMORIAM.  253 

To  hear  the  tidings  of  my  friend, 
Which  every  hour  his  couriers  bring. 

Love  is  and  was  my  king  and  lord, 
And  will  be,  tho'  as  yet  I  keep 
Within  his  court  on  earth,  and  sleep 

Encompassed  by  his  faithful  guard, 

And  hear  at  times  a  sentinel 

Who  moves  about  from  place  to  place, 
And  whispers  to  the  worlds  of  space, 

In  the  deep  night,  that  all  is  well. 

cxxvu. 

And  all  is  well,  tho'  faith  and  form 

Be  sundered  in  the  night  of  fear ; 

Well  roars  the  storm  to  those  that  hear 
A  deeper  voice  across  the  storm, 

Proclaiming  social  truth  shall  spread, 

And  justice,  ev'n  tho'  thrice  again 

The  red  fool-fury  of  the  Seine 
Should  pile  her  barricades  with  dead. 

But  ill  for  him  that  wears  a  crown, 
And  him,  the  lazar,  in  his  rags : 
They  tremble,  the  sustaining  crags ; 

The  spires  of  ice  are  toppled  down, 

And  molten  up,  and  roar  in  flood ; 
The  fortress  crashes  from  on  high, 
The  brute  earth  lightens  to  the  sky, 

And  the  great  ifLon  sinks  in  blood, 


254  THE  BOOK  OF  ELEGIES. 

And  compass'd  by  the  fires  of  Hell; 
While  thou,  dear  spirit,  happy  star, 
O'erlook'st  the  tumult  from  afar, 

And  smilest,  knowing  all  is  well. 

CXXVIII. 

The  love  that  rose  on  stronger  wings, 
Unpalsied  when  he  met  with  Death, 
Is  comrade  of  the  lesser  faith 

That  sees  the  course  of  human  things. 

No  doubt  vast  eddies  in  the  flood 
Of  onward  time  shall  yet  be  made, 
And  throned  races  may  degrade ; 

Yet,  O  ye  mysteries  of  good, 

Wild  hours  that  fly  with  hope  and  fear, 
If  all  your  office  had  to  do 
With  old  results  that  look  like  new  ; 

If  this  were  all  your  mission  here, 

To  draw,  to  sheathe  a  useless  sword, 
To  fool  the  crowd  with  glorious  lies, 
To  cleave  a  creed  in  sects  and  cries, 

To  change  the  bearing  of  a  word, 

To  shift  an  arbitrary  power, 

To  cramp  the  student  at  his  desk, 
To  make  old  bareness  picturesque 

And  tuft  with  grass  a  feudal  tower; 

Why  then  my  scorn  might  well  descend 
On  you  and  yours.     I  see  in  part 
That  all,  as  in  some  piece  of  art, 

Is  toil  cooperant  to  an  end. 


IN  MEMORIAM.  255 


CXXIX. 


Dear  friend,  far  off,  my  lost  desire, 
So  far,  so  near  in  woe  and  weal ; 
Oh  loved  the  most,  when  most  I  feel 

There  is  a  lower  and  a  higher ; 

Known  and  unknown  ;  human,  divine ; 

Sweet  human  hand  and  lips  and  eye ; 

Dear  heavenly  friend  that  canst  not  die, 
Mine,  mine,  for  ever,  ever  mine ; 

Strange  friend,  past,  present,  and  to  be ; 

Love  deeplier,  darklier  understood ; 

Behold,  I  dream  a  dream  of  good, 
And  mingle  all  the  world  with  thee. 

cxxx. 

Thy  voice  is  on  the  rolling  air ; 

I  hear  thee  where  the  waters  run ; 

Thou  standest  in  the  rising  sun, 
And  in  the  setting  thou  art  fair. 

What  art  thou  then  ?     I  cannot  guess ; 
But  tho'  I  seem  in  star  and  flower 
To  feel  thee  some  diffusive  power, 

I  do  not  therefore  love  thee  less : 

My  love  involves  the  love  before ; 

My  love  is  vaster  passion  now ; 

Tho'  mix'd  with  God  and  Nature  thou, 
I  seem  to  love  thee  more  and  more. 

Far  off  thou  art,  but  ever  nigh ; 
I  have  thee  still,  and  I  rejoice; 


256  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

I  prosper,  circled  with  thy  voice ; 
I  shall  not  lose  thee  tho'  I  die. 

CXXXI. 

O  living  will  that  shalt  endure 

When  all  that  seems  shall  suffer  shock, 
Rise  in  the  spiritual  rock, 

Flow  thro'  our  deeds  and  make  them  pure, 

That  we  may  lift  from  out  of  dust 
A  voice  as  unto  him  that  hears, 
A  cry  above  the  conquered  years 

To  one  that  with  us  works,  and  trust, 

With  faith  that  comes  of  self-control, 
The  truths  that  never  can  be  proved 
Until  we  close  with  all  we  loved, 

And  all  we  flow  from,  soul  in  soul. 


O  true  and  tried,  so  well  and  long, 
Demand  not  thou  a  marriage  lay ; 
In  that  it  is  thy  marriage  day 

Is  music  more  than  any  song. 

Nor  have  I  felt  so  much  of  bliss 
Since  first  he  told  me  that  he  loved 
A  daughter  of  our  house ;  nor  proved 

Since  that  dark  day  a  day  like  this ; 

Tho*  I  since  then  have  numbered  o'er 

Some  thrice  three  years :  they  went  and  came 
Remade  the  blood  and  changed  the  frame, 

And  yet  is  love  not  less,  but  more; 


IN  MEMORIAM.  257 

No  longer  caring  to  embalm 

In  dying  songs  a  dead  regret, 

But  like  a  statue  solid-set, 
And  moulded  in  colossal  calm. 

Regret  is  dead,  but  love  is  more 

Than  in  the  summers  that  are  flown, 
For  I  myself  with  these  have  grown 

To  something  greater  than  before ; 

Which  makes  appear  the  songs  I  made 

As  echoes  out  of  weaker  times, 

As  half  but  idle  brawling  rhymes, 
The  sport  of  random  sun  and  shade. 

But  where  is  she,  the  bridal  flower, 
That  must  be  made  a  wife  ere  noon  ? 
She  enters,  glowing  like  the  moon 

Of  Eden  on  its  bridal  bower : 

On  me  she  bends  her  blissful  eyes 

And  then  on  thee ;  they  meet  thy  look 
And  brighten  like  the  star  that  shook 

Betwixt  the  palms  of  paradise. 

Oh,  when  her  life  was  yet  in  bud, 

He  too  foretold  the  perfect  rose. 

For  thee  she  grew,  for  thee  she  grows 
For  ever,  and  as  fair  as  good. 

And  thou  art  worthy ;  full  of  power ; 
As  gentle ;  liberal-minded,  great, 
Consistent ;  wearing  all  that  weight 

Of  learning  lightly  like  a  flower. 


258  THE  BOOK  OF  ELEGIES. 

But  now  set  out :  the  noon  is  near, 
And  I  must  give  away  the  bride ; 
She  fears  not,  or  with  thee  beside 

And  me  behind  her,  will  not  fear : 

For  I  that  danced  her  on  my  knee, 
That  watched  her  on  her  nurse's  arm, 
That  shielded  all  her  life  from  harm, 

At  last  must  part  with  her  to  thee ; 

Now  waiting  to  be  made  a  wife, 
Her  feet,  my  darling,  on  the  dead ; 
Their  pensive  tablets  round  her  head 

And  the  most  living  words  of  life 

Breathed  in  her  ear.     The  ring  is  on, 
The  "  wilt  thou  "  answer'd,  and  again 
The  "  wilt  thou  "  asked  till  out  of  twain 

Her  sweet  "  I  will "  has  made  ye  one. 

Now  sign  your  names,  which  shall  be  read, 
Mute  symbols  of  a  joyful  morn, 
By  village  eyes  as  yet  unborn ; 

The  names  are  signed,  and  overhead 

Begins  the  clash  and  clang  that  tells 
The  joy  to  every  wandering  breeze ; 
The  blind  wall  rocks,  and  on  the  trees 

The  dead  leaf  trembles  to  the  bells. 

Oh,  happy  hour,  and  happier  hours 
Await  them.  Many  a  merry  face 
Salutes  them  —  maidens  of  the  place, 

That  pelt  us  in  the  porch  with  flowers. 


IN  MEMORIAM.  259 

Oh,  happy  hour,  behold  the  bride 
With  him  to  whom  her  hand  I  gave. 
They  leave  the  porch,  they  pass  the  grave 

That  has  to-day  its  sunny  side. 

To-day  the  grave  is  bright  for  me, 
For  them  the  light  of  life  increased, 
Who  stay  to  share  the  morning  feast, 

Who  rest  to-night  beside  the  sea. 

Let  all  my  genial  spirits  advance 

To  meet  and  greet  a  whiter  sun ; 

My  drooping  memory  will  not  shun 
The  foaming  grape  of  eastern  France. 

It  circles  round,  and  fancy  plays, 

And  hearts  are  warmed,  and  faces  bloom, 
As  drinking  health  to  bride  and  groom 

We  wish  them  store  of  happy  days. 

Nor  count  me  all  to  blame  if  I 
Conjecture  of  a  stiller  guest, 
Perchance,  perchance,  among  the  rest, 

And,  tho'  in  silence,  wishing  joy. 

But  they  must  go,  the  time  draws  on, 
And  those  white-favored  horses  wait ; 
They  rise,  but  linger  ;  it  is  late ; 

Farewell,  we  kiss,  and  they  are  gone. 

A  shade  falls  on  us  like  the  dark 

From  little  cloudlets  on  the  grass, 

But  sweeps  away  as  out  we  pass 
To  range  the  woods,  to  roam  the  park, 


260  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

Discussing  how  their  courtship  grew, 
And  talk  of  others  that  are  wed, 
And  how  she  looked,  and  what  he  said, 

And  back  we  come  at  fall  of  dew. 

Again  the  feast,  the  speech,  the  glee, 

The  shade  of  passing  thought,  the  wealth 
Of  words  and  wit,  the  double  health, 

The  crowning  cup,  the  three-times-three, 

And  last  the  dance ;  —  till  I  retire  ; 

Dumb  is  that  tower  which  spake  so  loud, 
And  high  in  heaven  the  streaming  cloud, 

And  on  the  downs  a  rising  fire : 

And  rise,  O  moon,  from  yonder  down 
Till  over  down  and  over  dale 
All  night  the  shining  vapor  sail 

And  pass  the  silent-lighted  town, 

The  white-faced  halls,  the  glancing  rills, 
And  catch  at  every  mountain  head, 
And  o'er  the  friths  that  branch  and  spread 

Their  sleeping  silver  thro'  the  hills  ; 

And  touch  with  shade  the  bridal  doors, 
With  tender  gloom  the  roof,  the  wall ; 
And  breaking  let  the  splendor  fall 

To  spangle  all  the  happy  shores 

By  which  they  rest,  and  ocean  sounds, 
And,  star  and  system  rolling  past, 
A  soul  shall  draw  from  out  the  vast 

And  strike  his  being  into  bounds, 


IN  MEMORIAM.  261 

And,  moved  thro'  life  of  lower  phase, 

Result  in  man,  be  born  and  think, 

And  act  and  love,  a  closer  link 
Betwixt  us  and  the  crowning  race 

Of  those  that,  eye  to  eye,  shall  look 

On  knowledge  ;  under  whose  command 
Is  Earth  and  Earth's,  and  in  their  hand 

Is  Nature  like  an  open  book ; 

No  longer  half-akin  to  brute, 

For  all  we  thought  and  loved  and  did, 
And  hoped,  and  suffered,  is  but  seed 

Of  what  in  them  is  flower  and  fruit ; 

Whereof  the  man,  that  with  me  trod 
This  planet,  was  a  noble  type 
Appearing  ere  the  times  were  ripe, 

That  friend  of  mine  who  lives  in  God, 

That  God,  which  ever  lives  and  loves, 

One  God,  one  law,  one  element, 

And  one  far-off  divine  event, 
To  which  the  whole  creation  moves. 


NOTES. 

The  Author. 

Alfred  Tennyson  was  born  in  1809  at  Somersby,  Lincolnshire,  England. 
He  was  educated  at  home,  by  his  father,  and  at  Trinity  College,  Cam- 
bridge. His  first  volume  of  poetry  was  published  in  1830.  Upon  the 
death  of  Wordsworth  in  1850,  he  was  appointed  poet-laureate.  In  1883 
he  was  made  Baron  Tennyson  of  Aldworth  and  Freshwater.  He  died 
October  6,  1892.      His  principal  poems  are   The  Idylls  of  the  King,  In 


262  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

Memoriam,  The  Princess,  Maud,  Locksley  Hall,  Enoch  Arden,  and  several 
poetical  dramas. 

The  Subject. 

Arthur  Henry  Hallam,  in  whose  memory  this  poem  was  written,  was 
the  son  of  Henry  Hallam,  the  distinguished  historian.  He  was  born  in 
1811,  and  therefore  was  by  two  years  the  junior  of  Tennyson.  With  the 
latter,  he  was  educated  at  Trinity  College,  Cambridge.  At  a  very  early 
age  he  translated  the  sonnets  of  Dante's  Vita  Nuova,  and  wrote  memoirs 
of  Petrarch,  Voltaire,  and  Burke,  and  a  drama  on  the  life  of  Raphael. 
These  were  published  after  his  death  in  a  volume  of  memoirs  edited  by 
his  father.     He  died  in  Vienna,  September  15,  1833. 

The  Poem. 

It  is  analogous  to  a  series  of  sonnets,  and  is  composed  of  133  "short 
swallow-flights  of  song."  The  metre  is  the  same  throughout,  —  a  stanza  of 
four  lines,  the  first  rhyming  with  the  fourth,  the  second  with  the  third.1 
No  number  contains  less  than  three  stanzas,  while  one  (lxxxiv.)  has  as 
many  as  thirty.  "  The  whole  spirit  of  the  poem  is  the  spirit  of  the  sonnet 
as  understood  by  Dante,  Petrarch,  and  Shakespeare." 

Prologue.  The  eleven  stanzas  comprising  the  prologue  to  the  poem 
were  probably  the  last  to  be  written.  Internal  evidence  would  indicate 
that  the  work  was  composed  at  different  times  during  the  years  which 
intervened  between  Hallam's  death  and  the  date  (1849)  nere  given. 

I.   Introductory.     This  division  is  introductory  to  the  theme  which  forms 
the  burden  of  the  entire  poem,  and  was  probably  one  of  the  first 
parts  written.     It  may,  therefore,  have  been  composed  some  sixteen 
years  earlier  than  the  prologue. 
Stanza,  1.    See  Longfellow,  The  Ladder  of  St.  Augustine  :  — 

"  Saint  Augustine !  well  hast  thou  said, 
That  of  our  vices  we  can  frame 
A  ladder,  if  we  will  but  tread 
Beneath  our  feet  each  deed  of  shame." 

—  who  sings,  etc.     The  reference  is  not  to  Longfellow,  however, 
but  more  probably  to  Goethe.     If  men  may  thus  rise  on  stepping- 

1  Lord  Herbert  of  Cherbury  (1 581-1648)  is  sometimes  accredited  as  the  inventor  of 
this  metre.  It  is  true  that  he  was  the  first  to  make  such  verses  truly  melodious,  but  the 
stanza  of  this  form  had  been  used  by  earlier  writers.  It  was  very  effectively  employed 
by  George  Sandys  in  his  Paraphrase  of  the  Psalms  of  David  (1636). 


IN  MEMORIAM.  263 

stones  of  their  dead  selves  to  higher  things,  cannot  they  also  turn 
their  losses  into  gains,  and  make  their  tears  blossom  and  bear  fruit? 
2.  far-off  interest  of  tears.    Compare  with  Shakespeare,  Sonnet  31 :  — • 

"  Many  a  holy  and  obsequious  tear 
Hath  dear  religious  love  stol'n  from  mine  eye 
As  interest  of  the  dead." 

4.   Compare  with  xxvii.  4. 

II.  Address  to  the  Yew-Tree. 

In  England  the  yew-tree  is  extensively  planted  in  graveyards,  probably 
because  of  its  tenacious  growth  and  long  life.  With  the  ancient 
Druids  it  was  an  emblem  of  immortality. 

"  The  eternal  gloom  of  the  yew-tree  is  felt  to  be  congenial."  —  Robertson. 

1.  See  Bryant,  Thanatopsis :  — 

"  The  oak 
Shall  send  his  roots  abroad  and  pierce  thy  mould." 

See  also  Gray's  Elegy,  stanza  4;  also  xxxix.,  below. 

2.  3.   Compare  with  Milton,  Paradise  Lost,  iii. :  — 

"  Thus  with  the  year 
Seasons  return ;  but  not  to  me  returns 
Day  or  the  sweet  approach  of  even  or  morn, 
Or  sight  of  vernal  bloom,  or  summer's  rose, 
Or  flocks,  or  herds,  or  human  face  divine." 

III.  The  voice  of  sorrow. 

1.  Compare  with  lix.  See  Locksley  Hall,  76:  "A  sorrow's  crown  of 
sorrow  is  remembering  happier  things." 

IV.  The  poet's  musings  with  his  heart. 

V.  Why  give  place  to  grief? 

1.  words  .  .  .  half  conceal  the  Soul  within.  See  Goldsmith,  The 
Bee,  No.  iii. :  "  The  true  use  of  speech  is  not  so  much  to  express  our 
wants  as  to  conceal  them."  Talleyrand  is  credited  with  the  common 
phrase :  "  Speech  was  given  to  man  to  conceal  his  thoughts." 

3.  weeds.  Mourning  garments.  From  A.-S.  iv&d,  clothing.  A 
common  expression  still  current  is  "widow's  weeds."  —  in  outline, 
etc.  The  poet's  grief  shall  be  the  subject  of  words  —  of  this  poem. 
But  it  is  too  great  for  a  full  expression;  he  can  give  it  in  outline 
only. 


264  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

VI.  The  shock  to  parents  and  friends. 

I.  The  fact  of  the  commonness  of  bereavement  is  no  consolation;  it 
rather  adds  to  grief:  — 

"  There  is  no  flock,  however  watched  and  tended, 
But  one  dead  lamb  is  there ; 
There  is  no  fireside,  howsoe'er  defended, 

But  has  one  vacant  chair." —  Longfellow,  Resignation. 
7.    Young  Hallam  was  betrothed  to  Tennyson's  sister,  and  she  is  the 
"poor  child"  whose  sorrow  is  described  in  this  and  the  following 
stanzas.     From  lxxxv.  5,  we  learn  that  he  die'd  suddenly  in  Vienna. 

VII.  At  the  house  of  sorrow. 

3.  What  more  suggestive  picture  of  desolation  than  the  dark,  deserted 
house,  the  drizzling  rain  at  break  of  the  blank  day,  and  the  "  bald," 
silent  street? 

VIII.  Two  similes  and  a  reason. 

1  ~3«   The  first  simile  is  easily  understood :  "  Like  as  a  happy  lover  .  .  . 

so  find  I  every  pleasant  spot,"  etc. 
4-6.    In  the  second  simile  is  included  the  reason  for  inditing  this  poem, 

—  the  wish  to  plant  "  this  poor  flower  of  poesy  ...  on  his  tomb,"  etc. 

IX.  Apostrophe  to  the  ship  that  brings  him  home. 

1.  Hallam  having  died,  as  already  noted,  in  Vienna,  his  body  was 
brought  home  in  a  ship  from  Italy,  and  buried  not  far  from  the 
junction  of  the  Severn  with  the  Wye  (see  xviii.,  xix.).  — waft  him 
O'er.  Compare  with  Lycidas,  64.  —  holy  urn.  So  Milton  says 
"  destin'd  urn  "  and  "  laureate  hearse  "  (see  note  56,  page  93). 

3.  Phosphor.  The  light-bringer  or  morning  star.  Gr.  phos,  light, 
and  pherein,  to  bring.     See  cxxi. 

5.  The  poet's  affection  for  his  friend  is  here  concisely  expressed. 
"  He  seems  to  have  looked  upon  their  communion  as  a  ■  marriage 
of  true  minds,'  in  which  he  was  the  weaker  or  feminine  element." 
Compare  with  xvii.  5. 

X.  Apostrophe  to  the  ship,  continued. 

It  is  perhaps  a  foolish  instinct  with  us,  and  yet  it  seems  better  that  the 
dead  should  be  buried  beneath  the  sod  than  that  their  graves  should 
be  in  the  ocean,  unknown  and  unmarked. 

5.  fathom-deep.  "  Full  fathom  five  thy  father  lies."  —  Shakespeare, 
Tempest. 

XI.  An  interlude  of  calm. 

1-4.   The  calmness  of  the  morning  hour  in  autumn. 


IN  MEMORTAM.  265 

5.   The  calmness  of  death  on  the  calm  sea. 

XII.  The  poet  goes  in  spirit  to  meet  the  ship. 

1.  See  Milton's  sonnet,  To  his  Deceased  Wife. 

2.  mortal  ark.  The  body.  The  metaphorical  allusion  is  to  the  dove 
sent  out  by  Noah  to  determine  whether  the  waters  of  the  flood  had 
subsided.     See  Genesis  viii.  8-12. 

XIII.  Tears  for  the  chosen  comrade. 

XIV.  To  think  of  him  as  still  alive  is  not  so  strange.     To  be  able  to 
realize  that  he  is  dead  is  even  stranger. 

"  A  simple  child, 
That  lightly  draws  its  breath, 
And  feels  its  life  in  every  limb, 
What  should  it  know  of  death  ?  " 

Wordsworth,  We  are  Seven. 

XV.  An  autumn  storm  at  evening. 

Contrast  the  picture  here  drawn  with  that  of  the  calm  morning  in  xi.,  — 
wild  unrest  with  calm  despair.  Can  both  exist  in  the  same  mind? 
See  xvi.  1. 

XVI.  The  poet  is  surprised  at  such  contrariety  of  feeling. 

XVII.  Another  benison  upon  the  ship. 
1.   The  vessel  arrives. 

5.   Till  all  my  widow'd  race  be  run.     See  note  on  ix.  5. 

XVIII.  The  English  burial  near  the  banks  of  the  Severn. 

1.  from  ashes  .  .  .  the  violet.  So  from  the  blood  of  Adonis  springs 
the  rose.  See  note  14,  page  32.  See  Shakespeare,  Hamlet,  "  And 
from  her  fair  and  unpolluted  flesh  may  violets  spring !  " 

XIX.  Arthur's  grave  by  the  river. 

1.  by  the  pleasant  shore.  One  would  infer  that  the  grave  was  near 
the  river  bank  where  the  Severn  joins  the  Wye.  Hallam  was  buried 
inside  Clevedon  Church. 

2.  The  tide  at  Chepstow  near  the  junction  of  the  Wye  and  Severn 
sometimes  rises  sixty  feet;  then  it  is  that  it  "makes  a  silence  in  the 
hills." 

4.   The  poet's  grief  is  somewhat  like  the  tide. 

XX.  Ebb  and  flow. 

XXI.  The  poet's  reason  for  singing. 
2-5.   The  complaints  of  the  critics. 


266  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES, 

6.  I  do  but  sing,  etc.   Compare  with  Pope,  Epistle  to  Dr.  Arbuthnot:  — 
"  I  lisped  in  numbers  for  the  numbers  came." 

5.  latest  moon.  The  planet  Neptune,  discovered  in  1846,  probably 
just  before  the  writing  of  these  stanzas. 

XXII.  Four  years  of  companionship. 

1.  Compare  with  Lycidas,  23-31 :  — 

"  For  we  were  nurs'd  upon  the  self-same  hill,"  etc. 

2.  3.  From  April  on  to  April  went,  etc. 

"  Three  winters  cold 
Have  from  the  forest  shook  three  summers'  pride ; 
Three  beauteous  springs  to  yellow  autumn  turn'd, 
In  process  of  the  seasons  have  I  seen ; 
Three  April  perfumes  in  three  hot  Junes  burn'd, 
Since  first  I  saw  you  fresh,  which  yet  art  green." 

Shakespeare,  Sonnet  104. 

3.  Shadow.  The  shadow  of  death.  See  Job  xxiv.  17:  "For  the 
morning  is  to  them  even  as  the  shadow  of  death;  if  one  know  them, 
they  are  in  the  terrors  of  the  shadow  of  death." 

XXIII.  Recollections  of  that  companionship. 
3.   Pan.     See  note  59,  page  71. 

6.  flute  of  Arcady.     See  note  7,  page  67. 

XXIV.  Imagination  may  paint  the  past  in  too  bright  colors. 
1.   fount  of  Day,  etc.     The  very  sun  has  its  spots. 

XXV.  But  Love's  burden  is  light. 

XXVI.  Forgetfulness  of  the  past  is  less  to  be  desired  than  death. 

1.    Still  onward,  etc.     Compare  with  Gray's  Elegy,  3.    The  preceding 

verses  were  written  in  the  autumn,  very  soon  after  Arthur's  death. 

Some  weeks  have  now  passed,  the  Christmas  time  is  approaching, 

and  the  poet  again  takes  up  his  pen. 
3-4.    I  would  rather  find  "  that  Shadow  waiting  with  the  keys,"  than 

know  that  I  would  live  indifferent  to  Love. 

XXVII.  The  blessedness  of  having  loved. 

XXVIII.  The  Christmas  bells. 

XXIX.  Christmas  eve. 

3.  We  will  keep  it  for  old  custom's  sake  —  because  we  were  wont  to 
do  so,  because  we  used  to  do  so.     Compare  with  Ixxviii.,  below. 


IN  MEMORIAM.  267 

XXX.  Christmas  day. 

How  we  kept  the  Christmas  eve.  Conflicting  thoughts.  Compare  it 
with  the  second  Christmas  (see  lxxviii.),  and  note  the  change  which 
time  brings. 

XXXI.  The  present  state  of  the  dead. 

In  this  and  the  next  five  flights  we  have  a  series  of  meditations  on  the 
condition  of  the  departed,  suggested  by  the  story  of  the  resurrection 
of  Lazarus  (see  John  xi.,  xii.). 

XXXII.  The  devotion  of  Mary, 
i .    See  Luke  x.  42. 

3.   See  John  xii.  3. 

XXXIII.  Simple  faith  better  than  formal  devotion. 

XXXIV.  Immortality  our  only  hope. 

XXXV.  The  moral  chaos  that  would  ensue  if  this  were  not  so. 

5-6.  If  Death  were  the  end,  then  Love  itself  would  be  "  mere  fellow- 
ship," etc. 

XXXVI.  The  incarnation  of  Christ. 

3.  the  Word.  "  In  the  beginning  was  the  Word  .  .  .  and  the  Word 
was  made  flesh,  and  dwelt  among  us,  full  of  grace  and  truth."  — 
John  i. 

4.  and  to  cease.     Compare  with  Keats's  Ode  to  a  Nightingale,  56:  — 

"  To  cease  upon  the  midnight  with  no  pain." 

XXXVII.  Superiority  of  revelation  over  uninspired  poetry. 

1.  Urania.     See  note  2  on  Adonais,  page  136. 

2.  Parnassus.  The  dwelling  place  or  favorite  haunt  of  Apollo  and 
the  Muses. 

3.  Melpomene.  The  singing  goddess.  The  Muse  who  presided  over 
tragedy. 

XXXVIII.  Song  cheers  the  weary  way. 

The  spring  approaches,  we  are  "  under  altered  skies,"  the  "  blowing 
season "  of  March  is  here,  the  "  herald  melodies "  of  singing  birds 
are  heard. 

2.   herald  melodies.     Compare  with  Shakespeare,  Sonnet  1 :  — 

"  The  only  herald  to  the  gaudy  spring." 

XXXIX.  A  second  address  to  the  yew-tree.     See  ii.,  and  the  note  on  the 
same. 


268  THE   BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

XL.    Death's  parting  is  final. 

6-8.  The  bride  returns  to  her  friends;  but  the  Spirits  breathed  away 
come  not  again. 

XLI.  The  poet  fears  that  he  will  always  be  one  life  behind  his  friend.     If 
this  be  the  case,  they  can  never  be  comrades  again. 

XLII.   And  yet  may  they  not  meet  as  teacher  and  pupil? 

XLIII.   Death  may  be  a  trance. 

XLIV.    Do  the  dead  forget  their  former  life? 

i.  If  our  souls  existed  before  we  were  born,  we  have  forgotten  that 
existence.     And  may  not  the  spirit  in  the  next  life  also  forget?  — 

"  Our  birth  is  but  a  sleep  and  a  forgetting : 
The  soul  that  rises  with  us,  our  life's  star, 
Hath  elsewhere  its  setting, 
And  cometh  from  afar."  —  Wordsworth. 

2.  And  yet  we  cannot  say  that  "some  little  flash,  some  mystic  hint" 
of  the  former  life  does  not  sometimes  come  to  us :  — 

"  Not  in  entire  forgetfulness, 
And  not  in  utter  nakedness, 
But  trailing  clouds  of  glory  do  we  come 
From  God  who  is  our  home."  —  Wordsworth. 

3.  And  so  may  not  some  such  mystic  hint  awaken  the  memory  of  the 
dead  —  if  indeed  Death  so  taste  of  forgetfulness.  —  Lethean.  Per- 
taining to  Lethe,  the  river  of  forgetfulness :  — 

"  A  slow  and  silent  stream, 
Lethe,  the  river  of  oblivion,  rolls 
Her  watery  labyrinth,  whereof  who  drinks 
Forthwith  his  former  state  and  being  forgets  — 
Forgets  both  joy  and  grief,  pleasure  and  pain." 

Milton,  Paradise  Lost,  ii.  583. 

XLV.    Perhaps  the  consciousness  of  personal  existence  first  comes  to  us  in 
this  present  life  and  is  never  lost. 

XLVI.   The  memory  of  our  five  years'  friendship  will  surely  remain. 

XLVII.   The  doctrine  of  Pantheism  is  both  vague  and  distasteful.     See 
note  on  Adonais,  xxxviii.,  page  147. 

XLVIII.   The  mission  of  Sorrow. 

2.  Sorrow  ministers  to  love,  and  cares  not  to  "  part  and  prove  "  the 
great  problems  of  existence  :  — 


IN  MEMORIAM.  269 

"  Lord  of  my  love,  to  whom  in  vassalage 
Thy  merit  hath  my  duty  strongly  knit, 
To  thee  I  send  this  withered  embassage, 
To  witness  duty,  and  to  show  my  wit." 

Shakespeare,  Sonnet  26. 
See  iii. 

4.  The  poet  dares  not  "  trust  a  larger  lay,"  but  sings  only  in  "  short 
swallow- flights  of  song,"  i.e.  in  these  one  hundred  and  thirty  odd 
divisions  of  In  Memoriam. 

XLIX.  The  song  may  be  light  but  the  sorrow  is  deep.     See  cvi.  4,  5. 

L.    An  invocation. 

1.  Thou  wilt  be  my  light. 

2.  Thou  wilt  be  my  strength. 

3.  Thou  wilt  aid  my  faith. 

4.  Thou  wilt  be  a  strong  presence  to  support  me. 

LI.  The  superior  wisdom  of  the  dead. 

2.   Compare  with  Shakespeare,  Sonnet  61 :  — 

"  Is  it  thy  spirit  that  thou  send'st  from  thee 
So  far  from  home  into  my  deeds  to  pry, 
To  find  out  shames  and  idle  hours  in  me?  " 

3-4.  I  fear  not  the  searching  eyes  of  the  Spirits  to  whom  even  shame 
may  be  laid  bare.  For  their  larger  wisdom  will  enable  them  to 
understand  my  weakness. 

LII.  The  poet  would  not  blame  his  own  weakness  overmuch.       • 

LIII.    Evil  in  retrospect. 

Is  there  anywhere  proof  that  evil  is  in  any  sense  desirable  or  necessary? 

4.  "Prove  all  things;  hold  fast  that  which  is  good." — 1.  Thessalo- 
nians  v.  21. 

LIV.   All  things  work  together  for  good. 

5.  See  cxxiv.  5. 

LV.   Is   the   universal   desire   of  immortality  a  proof  that   existence   is 
eternal? 
4,  5.   We  know  nothing.     We  have  only  Faith,  and  upon  it  we  must 
rest  everything. 

LVI.   The  confusion  of  an  appeal  to  Nature. 

3-5.  Shall  man  become  dust  to  be  blown  about  by  the  winds  or  locked 
up  in  the  tomb?     Is  this  the  end?     See  Hamlet,  v.  1. 


270  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

7.  Where  shall  we  find  an  answer  to  these  wearying  doubts?  "  Behind 
the  veil,  behind  the  veil."     Compare  with  cxviii. 

LVII.   The  funeral  bell. 

3.   See  Shakespeare,  Sonnet  71 :  — 

"  No  longer  mourn  for  me  when  I  am  dead, 
Than  you  shall  hear  the  surly  sullen  bell 
Give  warning  to  the  world  that  I  am  fled." 

It  would  seem  that  Tennyson's  first  intention  was  that  the  poem 
should  end  here. 

LVIII.   Why  shed  the  fruitless  tear? 

LIX.   Apostrophe  to  Sorrow.     Sorrow  in  a  personified  form  has  taken  the 
place  of  the  dead.     Compare  with  Shakespeare,  King  John  :  — 

"  Grief  fills  the  room  up  of  my  absent  child, 
Lies  in  his  bed,  walks  up  and  down  with  me ; 
Puts  on  his  pretty  looks,  repeats  his  words, 
Remembers  me  of  all  his  gracious  parts, 
Stuffs  out  his  vacant  garments  with  his  form : 
Then,  have  I  reason  to  be  fond  of  grief." 

Compare  with  the  poet's  former  address  to  Sorrow,  in  iii.,  above. 

LX.   Lowly  love  entertained  for  one  in  higher  station. 

LXI.  The  sincerity  of  my  love  for  him. 

3.  the  soul  of  Shakespeare.  "  The  transcendent  love  for  a  beautiful 
soul,  *  passing  the  love  of  woman,'  of  which  the  soul  of  Shakespeare 
was  capable,  is  here  hinted  at,  and  the  poet  declares  that  even  this 
love  cannot  surpass  his  for  his  friend.  The  allusion  appears  to  indi- 
cate a  deep  and  probably  recent  study  of  the  Sonnets  of  Shakespeare." 
—  Tennysoniana. 

LXII.   "  Though  an  unworthy  love,  once  past,  perishes,  .  .  . 

LXIII.   "Yet  the  higher  Being  may  in  some  sort  feel  for  the  affection 
borne  to  it  by  the  inferior."  —  Robertson. 

LXIV.   Does  the  great  man  remember  the  humble   companion  of  his 
boyhood? 

LXV.   Our  love  must  still  be  in  some  degree  mutual. 

LXVI.    My  loss  is  like  the  blind  man's  loss  of  sight.     But  even  the  blind 
man's  "  inner  day  can  never  die." 


IN  MEMORIAM.  271 

LXVII.  In  fancy,  at  night,  I  see  the  tablet  over  Arthur's  grave  in  the 
dark  church. 

LXVIII.    In  my  dreams  he  is  not  dead.     See  note  at  bottom  of  page  148. 
1 .   Sleep,  Death's  twin-brother.   See  note  on  Adonais,  vii.  7,  page  1 39. 

LXIX.   A  dream. 

LXX.  Out  of  the  shadowiness  of  dreams  Arthur's  fair  face  appears  and 
drives  all  phantoms  away. 

LXXI.    Recollections  of  one  pleasant  episode  in  our  lives. 

LXXII.  Anniversary  of  Arthur's  death.  A  stormy,  dreary  day  in  autumn 
again.     Compare  with  xcix. 

LXXIII.  Fame.  He  lived  not  to  achieve  it  —  and  why  should  he? 
Compare  with  Lycidas,  78.  . 

LXXIV.   A  simile.     His  family  likeness  to  the  good  and  great. 

LXXV.  His  deeds  while  here  were  potential,  but  certainly,  somewhere, 
he  is  now  making  his  power  active.  Compare  this  and  the  next  two 
flights  with  Shakespeare,  Sonnet  17:  — 

"  Who  will  believe  my  verse  in  time  to  come, 
If  it  were  filled  with  your  most  high  deserts? 
Though  yet,  heaven  knows,  it  is  but  as  a  tomb 
Which  hides  your  life  and  shows  not  half  your  parts. 
If  I  could  write  the  beauty  of  your  eyes 
And  in  fresh  numbers  number  all  your  graces, 
The  eye  to  come  would  say,  '  This  poet  lies ; 
Such  heav'nly  touches  ne'er  touch'd  earthly  faces/ 
So  should  my  papers,  yellow'd  with  their  age, 
Be  scorn'd  like  old  men  of  less  truth  than  tongue, 
And  your  true  rights  be  term'd  a  poet's  rage 
And  stretched  metre  of  an  antique  song." 

LXXVI.   Fame  at  its  best  is  transient. 

LXXVII.  These  verses  may  be  but  short-lived,  yet  what  of  that?  I  sing 
for  love,  and  not  for  fame. 

LXXVIII.   The  second  Christmas.     Compare  with  xxviii.,  xxix.,  above. 
4.    Grief  is  not  so  poignant  as  it  was  a  year  ago. 

LXXIX.   The  closeness  of  our  friendship. 

Here  begins  a  series  of  verses  in  which  the  poet  musingly  reviews  the 
loving  relationship  which  existed  between  him  and  Arthur. 

LXXX.    Suppose  he  had  lived  and  I  had  died. 


272  THE  BOOK  OF  ELEGIES. 

LXXXI.   My  love  for  him  has  been  made  mature  through  his  death. 

LXXXII.   I  murmur  only  because  our  intercourse  has  been  terminated. 
All  else  is  well. 

LXXXIII.  The  tardy  spring  of  the  new  year.     It  whispers  hope. 
3.   See  Lycidas,  142-151;   also  note  16,  page  34. 

LXXXIV.   Visions  of  what  might  have  been. 
3.   See  vi.  7,  and  the  note  to  the  same. 

LXXXV.   After  all,  another  friendship  is  not  impossible. 

25.  clasping  brother-hands.  This  poem  is  probably  addressed  to 
Tennyson's  brother-in-law  (husband  of  Arthur's  betrothed),  and  if 
so,  must  have  been  written  at  least  seven  years  after  Hallam's  death. 

LXXXVI.  The  coming  of  Spring  brings  hallowed  influences,  and  whispers 
"  Peace ! " 

LXXXVII.   Reminiscences  of  college  life. 

2.  high-built  organs.     Compare  with  Milton,  II  Penseroso,  161 :  — 

"  There  let  the  pealing  organ  blow 
To  the  full-voiced  quire  below,"  etc. 

LXXXVIII.  The  contrast  of  fierce  and  secret  joy  in  the  song  of  the 
nightingale.     See  Keats's  Ode  to  a  Nightingale, 

3 .  See  Locksley  Hall :  — 

■  Love  took  up  the  harp  of  life,  and  smote  on  all  the  chords  with  might." 

LXXXIX.   Memoirs  of  country  delights. 
6.   Tuscan  poets.     Dante,  Petrarch. 

XC.   A  change  of  circumstances  may  make  return  of  the  dead  to  life 
undesirable  to  some,  but  never  would  his  return  be  unwelcome  to  me. 

XCI.   Both  spring  and  summer  bring  glad  remembrances  of  him,  and 
seem  to  bid  him  come  back. 

XCII.   And  yet  even  should  he  return  in  visible  spirit-form,  I  could  hardly 
believe  it. 

XCIII.   Oh,  that  our  spirits  might  at  least  have  some  sort  of  communion. 
2.   Compare  with  this  from  Aylmer's  Field  :  — 

"  Star  to  star  vibrates  light :  may  soul  to  soul 
Strike  through  a  finer  element  of  her  own 
So  from  afar  touch  as  at  once?  " 

XCIV.   Only  the  pure  in  heart  can  hold  communion  with  the  dead. 


IN  MEMOKIAM.  273 

XCV.   Another  reminiscence  called  up  by  reading  his  letters  one  night 
while  tenting  in  the  fields. 
7.   defying  change.    See  Shakespeare,  Sonnet  123: — 

44  No,  Time,  thou  shalt  not  boast  that  I  do  change, 
Thy  registers  and  thee,  I  both  defy." 

5.  from  me  and  night.     Compare  with  Gray's  Elegy,  4. 

XCVI.   Doubt  and  faith. 

6.  Sinai's  peaks  of  old.     See  Exodus  xxxii.  1-4. 

XCVII.  The  love  of  faith. 

XCVIII.    Vienna,  the  city  of  his  death. 

XCIX.  The  second  anniversary  of  his  death.     See  lxxii.,  above. 

C.  Every  object  I  see  recalls  memories  of  him.     "  Once  more  he  seems 
to  die." 

CI.  On  leaving  the  hqme  of  childhood.  Tennyson  left  his  ancestral  home 
about  the  year  1835,  anc*  &m  division  of  the  poem  was  probably 
written  at  that  time. 
3.  lesser  wain.  The  constellation  Ursa  Major,  or  the  Great  Bear, 
is  frequently  called  "  Charles's  wain "  (probably  from  ceorles  wain, 
the  countryman's  wagon).  Tennyson  doubtless  refers  here  to  the 
constellation  Ursa  Minor,  or  the  Little  Bear. 

CII.  The  remembrances  which  make  the  old  home  so  dear  are  of  two 
kinds. 
2.   Two  Spirits,  etc.     See  Shakespeare,  Sonnet  144 :  — 

44  Two  loves  I  have  of  comfort  and  despair, 
Which  like  two  spirits  do  suggest  me  still." 

CIII.  The  last  night  in  my  childhood's  home,  and  what  I  dreamed. 

"  The  vision  presents  the  thought  that,  his  memory  going  with  us,  the 
spirit  of  all  that  is  wise  and  good  and  graceful  sails 'with  us  in  the 
life-voyage."  —  Robertson. 

CIV.  The  approach  of  Christmas.     Strange  Christmas  bells. 

CV.   The  third  Christmas   eve.     In  a  new  house,  and   among  strange 
associations.     Compare  with  xxviii.  and  lxxviii. 

CVI.   The  bells  of  the  New  Year. 

CVII.   Celebration  of  Arthur's  birthday. 

However  bitter  the  winter  weather,  let  us  keep  the  day  with  festal  cheer. 


274  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

CVIII.   The  wisdom  which  sorrow  brings. 

CIX.    Arthur's  distinctive  characteristics. 

CX.   His  influence  over  his  associates. 

CXI.   A  true  gentleman  he  was  in  heart  and  life :  — 

"  The  rank  is  but  the  guinea's  stamp, 
A  man's  a  man  for  a'  that."  —  Burns. 

CXII.    The  growth  of  his  intellectual  power. 

CXIII.    What  he  would  have  been  had  he  lived. 

CXIV.  Wisdom  is  heavenly,  Knowledge  is  of  earth.  His  was  a  charac- 
ter in  which  to  knowledge  was  added  reverence  and  charity,  —  and 
these  three  thus  blended  are  Wisdom. 

CXV.   The  coming  of  spring.     Compare  with  xxxviii. 

CXVI.    Hopes  aroused  by  Nature's  re-awakening. 

f 
CXVII.   The   sorrow   of    separation   will   only   enhance    the    delight   of 

meeting. 
3.   All  the  courses  of  the  suns.     Compare  with  Shakespeare,  Sonnet 
59 :  "  Five  hundred  courses  of  the  sun." 

CXVIII.   The  evolution  of  man  from  the  lower  forms  of  nature  is  but  an 
indication  that  his  upward  progress  will  continue. 
1.   dying  Nature's  earth  and  lime.     Compare  with  — 

"Before  the  little  ducts  began 
To  feed  the  bones  with  lime."  —  Two  Voices,  326. 

CXIX.  Another  visit  to  the  house  which  was  Arthur's  home.  Compare 
with  vii. 

CXX.   Man  is  not  "  a  greater  ape."     He  is  born  for  higher  things. 

1.  Like  Paul  with  beasts.  See  1  Corinthians  xv.  32.  This  poem  was 
written  before  the  enunciation  of  the  doctrine  of  evolution  by  Dar- 
win, probably  soon  after  the  publication  of  The  Vestiges  of  the 
Natural  History  of  Creation  (1844),  which  had  produced  much 
discussion  on  this  and  kindred  themes. 

CXXI.  The  evening  and  the  morning  star.  As  Hesper,  the  evening  star, 
changes  in  time  to  Phosphor,  the  morning  star,  so  my  grief  has 
changed  from  despair  to  hope.     See  ix.,  above. 

CXXII.  Did  Arthur  know  of  my  despair  and  wretchedness?  Then  let 
him  be  with  me  now  in  my  feeling  of  blessedness.- 


IN  MEMORIAM.  275 

i .    Compare  with  Shakespeare,  Sonnet  64 :  — 

"  When  I  have  seen  the  hungry  ocean  gain 
Advantage  on  the  kingdom  of  the  shore, 
And  the  firm  soil  win  of  the  watery  main,"  etc. 

CXXIII.   The  great  changes  which  have  taken  place  on  earth,  yet  no 
change  can  make  me  think  our  separation  final. 

CXXIV.  An  answer  to  the  sceptic's  doubts.     Do  we  ask,  Where  is  God? 
We  feel  Him,  know  Him,  in  our  inmost  hearts. 
5.    See  liv.  5. 

CXXV.   In  all  these  sorrowing  verses,  Hope  and  Love  have  been  present; 
for  it  was  he  that  "  breathed  the  spirit  of  the  song." 
2.    Compare  with  Shakespeare,  Sonnet  72  :  — 

"  Unless  you  would  devise  some  virtuous  lie, 
To  do  more  for  me  than  mine  own  desert, 
And  hang  more  praise  upon  deceased  I 
Than  niggard  truth  would  willingly  impart  — 
Oh,  lest  your  true  love  may  seem  false  in  this, 
That  you  for  love  speak  well  of  me  untrue." 

CXXVI.   The  majesty  of  Love. 

CXXVII.    All  is  well.     All  is  moving  on  towards  God. 

2.  fool-fury  of  the  Seine.  The  French  revolution.  We  infer  from 
the  expression  "  thrice  again  "  that  he  has  in  mind  three  revolutions. 
If  so,  this  poem  must  have  been  written  about  the  time  of  the  popu- 
lar uprising  in  1848  and  the  dethronement  of  Louis  Philippe. 

CXXVIII.   Love  conquers  doubt. 

CXXIX.  The  ennobling  power  of  the  friendship  which  I  have  for  him. 
2.   Sweet  human  hand,  etc.    Compare  with, — 

"  In  the  blazon  of  sweet  beauty's  best, 
Of  hand,  of  foot,  of  lip,  of  eye,  of  brow." 

Shakespeare,  Sonnet  106. 

CXXX.    He  is  now  a  universal  presence. 

2.   I  do  not  therefore  love  thee  less.     Compare  with, — 

"  I  love  not  less  though  less  the  show  appear." 

Shakespeare,  Sonnet  102. 

CXXXI.    A  prayer  for  spiritual  strength. 


276  THE  BOOK  OF  ELEGIES. 

It  is  wonderful  how  generally  the  formalists  have  missed  their  way  to 
the  interpretation  of  this  poem.  It  is  sometimes  declared  with  oracular 
decisiveness,  that,  if  this  be  poetry,  all  they  have  been  accustomed  to  call 
poetry  must  change  its  name.  As  if  it  were  not  a  law  that  every  original 
poet  must  be  in  a  sense  new;  as  if  yEschylus  were  not  a  poet  because  he 
did  not  write  an  epic  like  Homer :  or  as  if  the  Romantic  poets  were  not 
poets  because  they  departed  from  every  rule  of  classical  poetry.  And  as 
if,  indeed,  this  very  objection  had  not  been  brought  against  the  Romantic 
school,  and  Shakespeare  himself  pronounced  by  French  critics  a  "  buf- 
foon " :  till  Schlegel  showed  that  all  life  makes  to  itself  its  own  form,  and 
that  Shakespeare's  form  had  its  living  laws.  So  spoke  the  "  Edinburgh 
Review"  of  Byron;  but  it  could  not  arrest  his  career.  So  spoke  Byron 
himself  of  Wordsworth ;  but  he  would  be  a  bold  man,  or  a  very  flippant 
one,  who  would  dare  to  say  now  that  Wordsworth  is  not  a  great  poet. 
And  the  day  will  come  when  the  slow,  sure  judgment  of  Time  shall  give 
to  Tennyson  his  undisputed  place  among  the  English  poets  as  a  true  one, 
of  rare  merit  and  originality.  —  F.  W.  Robertson. 

I  conceive  that  this  monumental  and  superlative  poem  has  done  more 
than  any  other  literary  performance  of  the  nineteenth  century  to  express 
and  to  consolidate  all  that  is  best  in  the  life  of  England,  its  domestic 
affection,  its  patriotic  feeling,  its  healthful  morality,  its  rational  and  earnest 
religion.  Happy  is  the  nation  whose  accepted  and  greatest  poet  thus 
voices  its  deepest  instincts.  Let  who  will  adjure  Englishmen  to  galvanize 
the  corpse  of  Paganism,  I  shall  take  my  place  in  the  throng  of  simple  folk 
who  listen,  well  pleased,  to  the  home-bred,  heart-felt,  honest  strains  of  In 
Memoriam.  —  Peter  Bayne. 

It  is  the  cry  of  the  bereaved  Psyche  into  the  dark  infinite  after  the 
vanished  love.  His  friend  is  nowhere  in  his  sight,  and  God  is  silent. 
Death,  God's  final  compulsion  to  prayer,  in  its  dread,  its  gloom,  its  utter 
stillness,  its  apparent  nothingness,  urges  the  cry.  Moanings  over  the  dead 
are  mingled  with  the  profoundest  questionings  of  philosophy,  the  signs  of 
nature,  and  the  story  of  Jesus,  while  now  and  then  the  star  of  the  morn- 
ing, bright  Phosphor,  flashes  a  few  rays  through  the  shifting,  cloudy  dark- 
ness. And  if  the  sun  has  not  arisen  on  the  close  of  the  book,  yet  the 
aurora  of  the  coming  dawn  gives  light  enough  to  make  the  onward  journey 
possible  and  hopeful.  —  George  MacDonald. 


ELEGIACAL  POEMS 

By  William  Shakespeare,  Ben  Jonson,  John  Webster,  Henry  Vaughan, 
John  Milton,  Thomas  Chatterton,  Robert  Burns,  Percy  Bysshe  Shelley, 
William  Wordsworth,  Charles  Lamb,  William  Cullen  Bryant,  and 
others 


If  I  were  to  give  a  sensible  image  of  Elegy,  I  should  not  paint  her 
as  many  have  done,  in  long  robes  of  sorrow,  with  dishevelled  hair  and 
a  veiled  brow,  weeping  over  a  coffin.  I  would  rather  represent  her  as 
a  nymph,  seated  placidly,  with  her  head  upon  her  hand,  full  of  feeling 
and  contemplation.  On  her  neglected  locks  should  hang  a  torn  garland, 
and  in  her  lap  should  lie  a  wreath  of  faded  flowers.  A  tomb  should 
appear  in  the  distance,  half  concealed  by  a .  dark  grove  of  cypresses.  Be- 
hind should  rise  a  hill  full  of  budding  roses,  and  illumined  with  the 
rays  of  the  rising  sun.  —  JACOBI. 


lElegtacal  $oems* 


EPITAPH. 

Here  lies  a  piece  of  Christ ;  a  star  in  dust ; 
A  vein  of  gold ;  a  china  dish  that  must 
Be  used  in  heaven,  when  God  shall  feast  the  just. 

Robert  Wilde  (17th  Century). 

II. 

EPITAPH. 

In  this  marble  casket  lies 
A  matchless  jewel  of  rich  price  ; 
Whom  Nature  in  the  world's  disdain 
But  showed,  and  put  it  up  again. 

Anon. 

III. 

EPITAPH    ON   THE    COUNTESS    OF    PEMBROKE. 

Underneath  this  sable  hearse 
Lies  the  subject  of  all  verse, 
Sidney's  sister,  Pembroke's  mother ; 
Death  !  ere  thou  hast  slain  another, 
Learn'd  and  fair,  and  good  as  she, 
Time  shall  throw  a  dart  at  thee. 

Ben  Jonson  (1574-1637) 
279 


280  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

IV. 

EPITAPH    ON    ELIZABETH    L.  H. 

Wouldst  thou  hear  what  man  can  say 
In  a  little  ?     Reader,  stay. 

Underneath  this  stone  doth  lie 

As  much  beauty  as  could  die : 

Which  in  life  did  harbour  give 

To  more  virtue  than  doth  live. 

If  at  all  she  had  a  fault, 

Leave  it  buried  in  this  vault. 

One  name  was  Elizabeth, 

The  other,  let  it  sleep  with  death : 

Fitter,  when  it  died,  to  tell, 

Than  that  it  lived  at  all.     Farewell ! 

Ben  Jonson  (i 574-1 637). 


A    SEA   DIRGE. 

Full  fathom  five  thy  father  lies : 

Of  his  bones  are  coral  made ; 
Those  are  pearls  that  were  his  eyes : 

Nothing  of  him  that  doth  fade, 
But  doth  suffer  a  sea-change 
Into  something  rich  and  strange ; 
Sea-nymphs  hourly  ring  his  knell : 
Hark !  now  I  hear  them,  — 

Ding,  dong,  Bell. 

William  Shakespeare  (1564- 161 6). 


ELEGIAC AL  POEMS,  281 

VI. 

A   LAND    DIRGE. 

Call  for  the  robin-redbreast  and  the  wren, 

Since  o'er  shady  groves  they  hover 

And  with  leaves  and  flowers  do  cover 

The  friendless  bodies  of  unburied  men. 

Call  unto  his  funeral  dole 

The  ant,  the  field-mouse,  and  the  mole 

To  rear  him  hillocks  that  shall  keep  him  warm 

And  (when  gay  tombs  are  robb'd)  sustain  no  harm  ; 

But  keep  the  wolf  far  thence,  that's  foe  to  men, 

For  with  his  nails  he'll  dig  them  up  again. 

John  Webster  (15    -1654). 

VII. 

soldiers'  dirge. 

How  sleep  the  brave,  who  sink  to  rest 
By  all  their  country's  wishes  blest ! 
When  spring,  with  dewy  fingers  cold, 
Returns  to  deck  their  hallow'd  mould, 
She  there  shall  dress  a  sweeter  sod 
Than  fancy's  feet  have  ever  trod. 

By  fairy  hands  their  knell  is  rung, 
By  forms  unseen  their  dirge  is  sung : 
There  Honour  comes,  a  pilgrim  gray, 
To  bless  the  turf  that  wraps  their  clay ; 
And  Freedom  shall  awhile  repair, 
To  dwell  a  weeping  hermit  there. 

William  Collins  (1 721-1756). 


282  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

VIII. 

ROSE   AYLMER. 

Ah  !  what  avails  the  sceptred  race, 
Ah  !  what  the  form  divine  ! 
What  every  virtue,  every  grace  ! 
Rose  Aylmer,  all  were  thine. 

Rose  Aylmer,  whom  these  wakeful  eyes 
May  weep,  but  never  see, 
A  night  of  memories  and  of  sighs 
I  consecrate  to  thee. 

Walter  Savage  Landor  (i  775-1864). 

IX. 

A   PAGAN   EPITAPH. 

In  this  marble  buried  lies 
Beauty  may  enrich  the  skies, 
And  add  light  to  Phoebus'  eyes ; 

Sweeter  than  Aurora's  air, 
When  she  paints  the  lilies  fair, 
And  gilds  cowslips  with  her  hair ; 

Chaster  than  the  virgin  spring, 
Ere  her  blossoms  she  doth  bring, 
Or  cause  Philomel  to  sing. 

If  such  goodness  live  'mongst  men, 
Tell  me  it :  I  [shall]  know  then 
She  is  come  from  Heaven  again. 

Anon. 


ELEGIACAL  POEMS.  283 

X. 

BEREAVEMENT. 

She  dwelt  among  the  untrodden  ways 

Beside  the  springs  of  Dove ; 
A  maid  whom  there  were  none  to  praise, 

And  very  few  to  love. 

A  violet  by  a  mossy  stone 

Half-hidden  from  the  eye ! 
—  Fair  as  a  star,  when  only  one 

Is  shining  in  the  sky. 

She  lived  unknown,  and  few  could  know 

When  Lucy  ceased  to  be ; 
But  she  is  in  her  grave,  and  O ! 

The  difference  to  me  ! 

William  Wordsworth  (i  770-1850). 

XI. 

EPITAPH  ON  MRS.  MARGARET  PASTON. 

So  fair,  so  young,  so  innocent,  so  sweet, 
So  ripe  a  judgment  and  so  rare  a  wit, 
Require  at  least  an  age  in  one  to  meet. 
In  her  they  met ;  but  long  they  could  not  stay, 
'Twas  gold  too  fine  to  mix  without  allay. 
Heaven's  image  was  in  her  so  well  express'd, 
Her  very  sight  upbraided  all  the  rest ; 
Too  justly  ravish'd  from  an  age  like  this, 
Now  she  is  gone,  the  world  is  of  a  piece. 

John  Dryden  (1631-1701). 


284  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

XII. 

EPITAPH    ON   THE    EXCELLENT    COUNTESS   OF 
HUNTINGDON. 

The  chief  perfection  of  both  sexes  joined, 

With  neither's  vice  nor  vanity  combined ; 

Of  this  our  age,  the  wonder,  love,  and  care, 

The  example  of  the  following,  and  despair ; 

Such  beauty,  that  from  all  hearts  love  must  flow, 

Such  majesty,  that  none  durst  tell  her  so  ; 

A  wisdom  of  so  large  and  potent  sway, 

Rome's  Senate  might  have  wished,  her  Conclave  may : 

Which  did  to  earthly  thoughts  so  seldom  bow, 

Alive  she  scarce  was  less  in  heaven  than  now ; 

So  void  of  the  least  pride,  to  her  alone 

These  radiant  excellencies  seemed  unknown  ; 

Such  once  there  was  ;  but  let  thy  grief  appear, 

Reader,  there  is  not :  Huntingdon  lies  here. 

Lord  Falkland  (i  576-1633). 

XIII. 

ON   THE    RELIGIOUS    MEMORY   OF    MRS.    CATHERINE    THOM- 
SON,   MY   CHRISTIAN   FRIEND. 

When  Faith  and  Love,  which  parted  from  thee  never, 
Had  ripened  thy  just  soul  to  dwell  with  God, 
Meekly  thou  didst  resign  this  earthly  load 
Of  death,  called  life ;  which  us  from  life  doth  sever. 
Thy  works  and  alms,  and  all  thy  good  endeavour, 
Stayed  not  behind,  nor  in  the  grave  were  trod ; 
But,  as  Faith  pointed  with  her  golden  rod, 
Followed  thee  up  to  joy  and  bliss  for  ever. 


ELEGIACAL  POEMS.  285 

Love  led  them  on,  and  Faith,  who  knew  them  best, 
Thy  handmaids,  clad  them  o'er  with  purple  beams 
And  azure  wings,  that  up  they  flew  so  drest, 
And  spake  the  truth  of  thee  on  glorious  themes 
Before  the  Judge ;  who  thenceforth  bid  thee  rest, 
And  drink  thy  fill  of  pure  immortal  streams. 

John  Milton  (i  608-1 674). 

XIV. 

MARY. 

If  I  had  thought  thou  could'st  have  died, 

I  might  not  weep  for  thee ; 
But  I  forgot,  when  by  thy  side, 

That  thou  could'st  mortal  be. 
It  never  through  my  mind  had  passed 

That  time  would  e'er  be  o'er, 
And  I  on  thee  should  look  my  last, 

And  thou  should'st  smile  no  more  ! 

And  still  upon  that  face  I  look, 

And  think  'twill  smile  again  ; 
And  still  the  thought  I  will  not  brook 

That  I  must  look  in  vain. 
But  when  I  speak  thou  dost  not  say, 

What  thou  ne'er  left'st  unsaid  ; 
And  now  I  feel,  as  well  I  may, 

Sweet  Mary,  thou  art  dead  ! 

If  thou  would'st  stay,  e'en  as  thou  art, 

All  cold,  and  all  serene  — 
I  still  might  press  thy  silent  heart, 

And  where  thy  smiles  have  been ! 
While  e'en  thy  chill,  bleak  corse  I  have, 

Thou  seemest  still  mine  own ; 


286  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

But  there  —  I  lay  thee  in  thy  grave, 
And  I  am  now  alone ! 

I  do  not  think,  where'er  thou  art, 

Thou  hast  forgotten  me  ; 
And  I,  perhaps,  may  soothe  this  heart, 

In  thinking  still  of  thee : 
Yet  there  was  round  thee  such  a  dawn 

Of  light  ne'er  seen  before, 
As  fancy  never  could  have  drawn, 

And  never  can  restore  ! 

Charles  Wolfe  (i  791-1823). 

XV. 

HESTER. 

When  maidens  such  as  Hester  die, 
Their  place  ye  may  not  well  supply, 
Though  ye  among  a  thousand  try, 
With  vain  endeavour. 

A  month  or  more  hath  she  been  dead, 
Yet  cannot  I  by  force  be  led 
To  think  upon  the  wormy  bed, 
And  her  together. 

A  springy  motion  in  her  gait, 
A  rising  step,  did  indicate 
Of  pride  and  joy  no  common  rate 
That  flushed  her  spirit. 

I  know  not  by  what  name  beside 
I  shall  it  call :  —  if  'twas  not  pride, 
It  was  a  joy  to  that  allied, 
She  did  inherit. 


ELEGIACAL  POEMS.  287 

Her  parents  held  the  Quaker  rule, 
Which  doth  the  human  feeling  cool, 
But  she  was  trained  in  Nature's  school, 
Nature  had  blest  her. 

A  waking  eye,  a  prying  mind, 
A  heart  that  stirs,  is  hard  to  bind, 
A  hawk's  keen  sight  ye  cannot  blind, 
Ye  could  not  Hester. 

My  sprightly  neighbour,  gone  before 
To  that  unknown  and  silent  shore, 
Shall  we  not  meet,  as  heretofore, 
Some  summer  morning, 

When  from  thy  cheerful  eyes  a  ray 
Hath  struck  a  bliss  upon  the  day, 
A  bliss  that  would  not  go  away, 
A  sweet  forewarning  ? 

Charles  Lamb  (1775- 1834). 

XVI. 

THE    SHEPHERD'S    ELEGY. 

Glide  soft,  ye  silver  floods, 
And  every  spring. 
Within  the  shady  woods 
Let  no  bird  sing ! 
Nor  from  the  grove  a  turtle  dove 
Be  seen  to  couple  with  her  love. 
But  silence  on  each  dale  and  mountain  dwell, 
Whilst  Willy  bids  his  friend  and  joy  farewell. 

But  of  great  Thetis'  train 
Ye  mermaids  fair 


288  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES, 

That  on  the  shores  do  plain 
Your  sea-green  hair, 
As  ye  in  trammels  knit  your  locks 
Weep  ye ;  and  so  enforce  the  rocks 
In  heavy  murmurs  through  the  broad  shores  tell, 
How  Willy  bade  his  friend  and  joy  farewell. 

Cease,  cease,  ye  murmuring  winds, 
To  move  a  wave  ; 
But  if  with  troubled  minds 
You  seek  his  grave, 
Know  'tis  as  various  as  yourselves 
Now  in  the  deep,  then  on  the  shelves, 
His  coffin  tossed  by  fish  and  surges  fell, 
Whilst  Willy  weeps,  and  bids  all  joy  farewell. 

Had  he,  Arion  like 
Been  judged  to  drown, 
He  on  his  lute  could  strike 
So  rare  a  sown, 
A  thousand  dolphins  would  have  come 
And  jointly  strive  to  bring  him  home. 
But  he  on  shipboard  died,  by  sickness  fell, 
Since  when  his  Willy  paid  all  joy  farewell. 

Great  Neptune,  hear  a  swain ! 
His  coffin  take, 
And  with  a  golden  chain 
(For  pity)  make 
It  fast  unto  a  rock  near  land ! 
Where  ev'ry  calmy  morn  I'll  stand, 
And  ere  one  sheep  out  of  my  fold  I  tell, 
Sad  Willy's  pipe  shall  bid  his  friend  farewell. 

William  Browne  (i  590-1645). 


ELEGIACAL  POEMS.  289 

XVII. 

ELEGY   ON   CAPTAIN    MATTHEW   HENDERSON. 

O  Death  !  thou  tyrant  fell  and  bloody ! 

The  meikle  devil  wi'  a  woodie 

Haurl  thee  hame  to  his  black  smiddie, 

O'er  hurcheon  hides, 
And  like  stockfish  came  o'er  his  studdie 

Wi'  thy  auld  sides ! 

He's  gane !  he's  gane !  he's  f rae  us  torn, 

The  ae  best  fellow  e'er  was  born ! 

Thee,  Matthew,  Nature's  sel'  shall  mourn 

By  wood  and  wild, 
Where,  haply,  Pity  strays  forlorn, 

Frae  man  exiled. 

Ye  hills,  near  neibours  o'  the  starns, 
That  proudly  cock  your  cresting  cairns ! 
Ye  cliffs,  the  haunts  of  sailing  yearns, 

Where  Echo  slumbers ! 
Come  join,  ye  Nature's  sturdiest  bairns, 

My  wailing  numbers ! 

Mourn,  ilka  grove  the  cushat  kens ! 
Ye  hazelly  shaws  and  briery  dens ! 
Ye  burnies,  wimplin'  down  your  glens, 

Wi'  toddlin'  din, 
Or  foaming  Strang,  wi'  hasty  stens, 

Frae  lin  to  lin. 

Mourn,  little  harebells  o'er  the  lea ; 
Ye  stately  foxgloves,  fair  to  see ; 


290  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

Ye  woodbines,  hanging  bonnilie 
In  scented  bowers ; 

Ye  roses  on  your  thorny  tree, 

The  first  o'  flowers. 

At  dawn,  when  every  grassy  blade 
Droops  with  a  diamond  at  its  head, 
At  even,  when  beans  their  fragrance  shed, 

F  the  rustling  gale, 
Ye  maukins,  whiddin'  through  the  glade, 

Come  join  my  wail ! 

Mourn,  ye  wee  songsters  o'  the  wood ; 
Ye  grouse,  that  crap  the  heather  bud ; 
Ye  curlews,  calling  through  a  clud ; 

Ye  whistling  plover ; 
And  mourn,  ye  whirring  paitrick  brood  — 

He's  gane  for  ever ! 

Mourn,  sooty  coots,  and  speckled  teals ; 
Ye  fisher  herons,  watching  eels ; 
Ye  duck  and  drake,  wi'  airy  wheels 

Circling  the  lake ; 
Ye  bitterns,  till  the  quagmire  reels, 

Rair  for  his  sake ! 

Mourn,  clam'ring  craiks  at  close  o'  day, 
'Mang  fields  o'  flowering  clover  gay; 
And  when  ye  wing  your  annual  way 

Frae  our  cauld  shore, 
Tell  thae  far  warlds,  wha  lies  in  clay, 

Wham  we  deplore. 


ELEGIACAL  POEMS.  291 

Ye  houiets,  frae  your  ivy  bower, 
In  some  auld  tree,  or  eldritch  tower, 
What  time  the  moon,  wi'  silent  glower, 

Sets  up  her  horn, 
Wail  through  the  dreary  midnight  hour 

Till  waukrife  morn ! 

O  rivers,  forests,  hills,  and  plains ! 
Oft  have  ye  heard  my  canty  strains : 
But  now,  what  else  for  me  remains 

But  tales  of  woe  ? 
And  frae  my  e'en  the  drapping  rains 

Maun  ever  flow. 

Mourn,  Spring,  thou  darling  of  the  year ! 
Ilk  cowslip  cup  shall  kep  a  tear : 
Thou  Simmer,  while  each  corny  spear 

Shoots  up  its  head, 
Thy  gay,  green,  flowery  tresses  shear 

For  him  that's  dead ! 

Thou,  Autumn,  wi'  thy  yellow  hair, 
In  grief  thy  swallow  mantle  tear ! 
Thou,  Winter,  hurling  through  the  air 

The  roaring  blast, 
Wide  o'er  the  naked  world  declare 

The  worth  we've  lost ! 

Mourn  him,  thou  Sun,  great  source  of  light ! 
Mourn,  Empress  of  the  silent  night ! 
And  you,  ye  twinkling  Starnies  bright, 

My  Matthew  mourn ! 
For  through  your  orbs  he's  ta'en  his  flight, 

Ne'er  to  return. 


292  THE  BOOK  OF  ELEGIES. 

O  Henderson  !  the  man  !  —  the  brother ! 
And  art  thou  gone,  and  gone  for  ever  ? 
And  hast  thou  crossed  that  unknown  river, 

Life's  dreary  bound  ? 
Like  thee,  where  shall  I  find  another, 

The  world  around  ? 

Go  to  your  sculptured  tombs,  ye  great, 
In  a'  the  tinsel  trash  o'  state ! 
But  by  thy  honest  turf  I'll  wait, 

Thou  man  of  worth ! 
And  weep  the  ae  best  fellow's  fate 

E'er  lay  in  earth. 

Robert  Burns  (i 759-1 796). 

XVIII. 

THE   MINSTREL'S    ROUNDELAY. 

Oh  sing  unto  my  roundelay, 

Oh  drop  the  briny  tear  with  me, 

Dance  no  more  on  holiday ; 

Like  a  running  river  be. 
My  love  is  dead, 
Gone  to  his  death-bed, 
All  under  the  willow-tree. 

Black  his  hair  as  the  winter  night, 
White  his  skin  as  the  summer  snow, 
Red  his  face  as  the  morning  light, 
Cold  he  lies  in  the  grave  below. 
My  love  is  dead, 
Gone  to  his  death-bed, 
All  under  the  willow-tree. 


ELEGIACAL   POEMS.  293 

Sweet  his  tongue  as  the  throstle's  note, 
Quick  in  dance  as  thought  can  be, 
Deft  his  tabor,  cudgel  stout ; 
Oh !  he  lies  by  the  willow-tree. 

My  love  is  dead, 

Gone  to  his  death-bed, 

All  under  the  willow-tree. 

Hark!  the  raven  flaps  his  wing, 
In  the  briar'd  dell  below ; 
Hark !  the  death-owl  loud  doth  sing 
To  the  nightmares,  as  they  go. 

My  love  is  dead, 

Gone  to  his  death-bed, 

All  under  the  willow-tree. 

See !  the  white  moon  shines  on  high ; 
Whiter  is  my  true-love's  shroud, 
Whiter  than  the  morning  sky, 
Whiter  than  the  evening  cloud. 

My  love  is  dead, 

Gone  to  his  death-bed, 

All  under  the  willow-tree. 

Here  upon  my  true-love's  grave, 
Shall  the  barren  flowers  be  laid ; 
Not  one  holy  saint  to  save 
All  the  coldness  of  a  maid. 

My  love  is  dead, 

Gone  to  his  death-bed, 

All  under  the  willow-tree. 

With  my  hands  I'll  fix  the  briars, 
Round  his  holy  corse  to  gre, 


4  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

Elfin  fairies,  light  your  fires, 

Here  my  body  still  shall  be. 
My  love  is  dead, 
Gone  to  his  death-bed, 
All  under  the  willow-tree. 

Come  with  acorn-cup  and  thorn, 
Drain  my  heart's  blood  all  away; 
Life  and  all  its  good  I  scorn, 
Dance  by  night  or  feast  by  day. 
My  love  is  dead, 
Gone  to  his  death-bed, 
All  under  the  willow-tree. 

Water-witches,  crowned  with  reytes, 
Bear  me  to  your  lethal  tide. 
I  die  !  I  come  !  my  true  love  waits,  — 
Thus  the  damsel  spake,  and  died. 

Thomas  Chatterton  (i  752-1 770). 

XIX. 

THANATOPSIS. 

To  him  who  in  the  love  of  Nature  holds 

Communion  with  her  visible  forms,  she  speaks 

A  various  language :  for  his  gayer  hours 

She  has  a  voice  of  gladness,  and  a  smile 

And  eloquence  of  beauty ;  and  she  glides 

Into  his  darker  musings  with  a  mild 

And  healing  sympathy,  that  steals  away 

Their  sharpness  ere  he  is  aware.     When  thoughts 

Of  the  last  bitter  hour  come  like  a  blight 

Over  thy  spirit,  and  sad  images 

Of  the  stern  agony,  and  shroud,  and  pall, 


ELEGIACAL  POEMS.  ^295 

And  breathless  darkness,  and  the  narrow  house, 

Make  thee  to  shudder  and  grow  sick  at  heart, 

Go  forth  under  the  open  sky  and  list 

To  Nature's  teachings,  while  from  all  around  — 

Earth  and  her  waters,  and  the  depths  of  air  — 

Comes  a  still  voice :  Yet  a  few  days,  and  thee 

The  all-beholding  sun  shall  see  no  more 

In  all  his  course ;  nor  yet  in  the  cold  ground, 

Where  thy  pale  form  was  laid  with  many  tears, 

Nor  in  the  embrace  of  ocean,  shall  exist 

Thy  image.     Earth,  that  nourished  thee,  shall  claim 

Thy  growth,  to  be  resolved  to  earth  again ; 

And,  lost  each  human  trace,  surrendering  up 

Thine  individual  being,  shalt  thou  go 

To  mix  forever  with  the  elements  — 

To  be  a  brother  to  the  insensible  rock, 

And  to  the  sluggish  clod  which  the  rude  swain 

Turns  with  his  share  and  treads  upon.     The  oak 

Shall  send  his  roots  abroad,  and  pierce  thy  mold. 

Yet  not  to  thine  eternal  resting-place 

Shalt  thou  retire  alone,  —  nor  couldst  thou  wish 

Couch  more  magnificent.     Thou  shalt  lie  down 

With  patriarchs  of  the  infant  world  —  with  kings, 

The  powerful  of  the  earth  —  the  wise,  the  good, 

Fair  forms,  and  hoary  seers  of  ages  past, 

All  in  one  mighty  sepulchre.     The  hills, 

Rock-ribbed  and  ancient  as  the  sun  ;  the  vales 

Stretching  in  pensive  quietness  between ; 

The  venerable  woods ;  rivers  that  move 

In  majesty,  and  the  complaining  brooks 

That  make  the  meadows  green ;  and,  poured  round  all, 

Old  ocean's  gray  and  melancholy  waste  — 


296  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

Are  but  the  solemn  decorations  all 
Of  the  great  tomb  of  man.     The  golden  sun, 
The  planets,  all  the  infinite  host  of  heaven, 
Are  shining  on  the  sad  abodes  of  death, 
Through  the  still  lapse  of  ages.     All  that  tread 
The  globe  are  but  a  handful  to  the  tribes 
That  slumber  in  its  bosom.     Take  the  wings 
Of  morning,  and  the  Barcan  desert  pierce, 
Or  lose  thyself  in  the  continuous  woods 
Where  rolls  the  Oregon,  and  hears  no  sound 
Save  his  own  dashings  —  yet  the  dead  are  there ! 
And  millions  in  those  solitudes,  since  first 
The  flight  of  years  began,  have  laid  them  down 
In  their  last  sleep  —  the  dead  reign  there  alone. 

So  shalt  thou  rest ;  and  what  if  thou  withdraw 
In  silence  from  the  living,  and  no  friend 
Take  note  of  thy  departure  ?     All  that  breathe 
Will  share  thy  destiny.     The  gay  will  laugh 
When  thou  art  gone,  the  solemn  brood  of  care 
Plod  on,  and  each  one,  as  before,  will  chase 
His  favorite  phantom ;  yet  all  these  shall  leave 
Their  mirth  and  their  employments,  and  shall  come 
And  make  their  bed  with  thee.     As  the  long  train 
Of  ages  glide  away,  the  sons  of  men  — 
The  youth  in  life's  green  spring,  and  he  who  goes 
In  the  full  strength  of  years,  matron,  and  maid, 
The  speechless  babe,  and  the  gray-headed  man  — 
Shall  one  by  one  be  gathered  to  thy  side 
By  those  who  in  their  turn  shall  follow  them. 

So  live,  that  when  thy  summons  comes  to  join 
The  innumerable  caravan  that  moves 


ELEGIACAL    rOEMS.  297 

To  that  mysterious  realm  where  each  shall  take 
His  chamber  in  the  silent  halls  of  death, 
Thou  go  not  like  the  quarry-slave  at  night, 
Scourged  to  his  dungeon ;  but,  sustained  and  soothed 
By  an  unfaltering  trust,  approach  thy  grave 
Like  one  who  wraps  the  drapery  of  his  couch 
About  him,  and  lies  down  to  pleasant  dreams. 

William  Cullen  Bryant  (1794-1878). 


XX. 

FRIENDS   DEPARTED. 

They  are  all  gone  into  the  world  of  light ! 

And  I  alone  sit  ling'ring  here ! 
Their  very  memory  is  fair  and  bright, 
And  my  sad  thoughts  doth  clear. 

It  glows  and  glitters  in  my  cloudy  breast 

Like  stars  upon  some  gloomy  grove, 
Or  those  faint  beams  in  which  this  hill  is  drest 
After  the  Sun's  remove. 

I  see  them  walking  in  an  air  of  glory, 

Whose  light  doth  trample  on  my  days ; 
My  days,  which  are  at  best  but  dull  and  hoary, 
Mere  glimmering  and  decays. 

O  holy  Hope !  and  high  Humility ! 

High  as  the  Heavens  above ! 
These  are  your  walks,  and  you  have  shew'd  them  me 
To  kindle  my  cold  love. 


298  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 

Dear,  beauteous  death;  the  Jewel  of  the  Just! 

Shining  no  where  but  in  the  dark ; 

What  mysteries  do  lie  beyond  thy  dust, 

Could  man  outlook  that  mark ! 

He  that  hath  found  some  fledg'd  bird's  nest  may  know 

At  first  sight  if  the  bird  be  flown ; 
But  what  fair  dell  or  grove  he  sings  in  now, 
That  is  to  him  unknown. 

And  yet,  as  Angels  in  some  brighter  dreams 

Call  to  the  soul  when  man  doth  sleep, 
So  some  strange  thoughts  transcend  our  wonted  themes, 
And  into  glory  peep. 

If  a  star  were  confin'd  into  a  tomb, 

Her  captive  flames  must  needs  burn  there ; 
But  when  the  hand  that  lock'd  her  up  gives  room, 
She'll  shine  through  all  the  sphere. 

O  Father  of  eternal  life,  and  all 

Created  glories  under  thee ! 
Resume  thy  spirit  from  this  world  of  thrall 
Into  true  liberty ! 

Either  disperse  these  mists  which  blot  and  fill 

My  perspective  still  as  they  pass ; 

Or  else  remove  me  hence  unto  that  hill 

Where  I  shall  need  no  glass. 

Henry  Vaughan  (i  621-1695). 


ELEGIAC AL  POEMS.  299 

NOTES. 

III. 

The  Countess  of  Pembroke,  commemorated  in  these  famous  lines,  was 
Mary  Herbert,  the  sister  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney.  It  was  she  who  wrote  The 
Dolefull  Lay  of  Clorinda  (see  note,  page  65),  and  it  was  for  her  that  Sid- 
ney composed  the  pastoral  romance  Arcadia. 

sable  hearse.     Compare  with  "  sable  shroud,"  Lycidas,  22. 

V. 

This  is  a  song  of  Ariel,  from  Shakespeare's  The  Tempest,  i.  2. 

VIII. 

Charles  Lamb  says  of  this  little  lyric  that  it  possessed  for  him  a  charm 
which  he  could  in  no  manner  explain.     "  I  lived  on  it  for  weeks." 

IX. 

gilds  cowslips  with  her  hair.  Compare  this  conception  of  Aurora's 
hair  with  Shelley's  reference  to  the  hair  of  Morning,  Adonais,  xiv.  3-5. 
See  also  note  on  the  same. 

X. 

This  exquisite  little  poem  was  written  in  Germany  in  1 799. 

Dove.  A  stream  which  rises  near  Buxton  in  Derbyshire  and  finally 
flows  into  the  Trent.  It  is  often  referred  to  by  Walton  in  his  Complete 
Angler,  and  by  Charles  Cotton  who  says :  — 

"  O  my  beloved  nymph,  fair  Dove, 
Princess  of  rivers,  how  I  love 
Upon  thy  flowery  banks  to  lie." 

XII. 

These  lines  are  to  the  memory  of  Elizabeth,  wife  of  Henry  Hastings, 
fifth  earl  of  Huntingdon.  Mindful  of  the  untruthfulness  of  too  many 
epitaphs,  Lord  Falkland  signed  the  original  copy  of  these  "  by  him  who 
says  what  he  saw,"  —  thus  asserting  that  his  praise  of  the  Countess  was  not 
out  of  proportion  to  her  deserts. 

XIII. 

Concerning  Mrs.  Catherine  Thomson,  we  have  no  information,  save  that 
she  was  a  friend  of  Milton's  and  died  Dec.  16,  1646. 

this   earthly  load  of  death  called  life.      Compare  with  Adonais, 


300  THE  BOOK   OF  ELEGIES. 


XV. 


These  lines  were  written  in  memory  of  Hester  Savory,  "a  young 
Quaker  you  may  have  heard  me  speak  of  as  being  in  love  with  for  some 
years  while  I  lived  at  Pentonville,"  says  Lamb,  "though  I  had  never 
spoken  to  Her  in  my  life." 

XVI. 

This  poem  is  selected  from  Britannia's  Pastorals,  1616.  Notice  the 
resemblance  in  thought  between  several  of  these  lines  and  similar  expres- 
sions in  the  elegies  by  Bion  and  Moschus. 

dolphins.     See  note  14,  page  46. 

XVII. 

Burns,  in  the  original  title  to  this  poem,  characterizes  Captain  Hender- 
son as  "  a  gentleman  who  held  the  patent  for  his  honours  immediately 
from  Almighty  God." 

Compare  the  greater  part  of  this  elegy  with  the  first  five  stanzas  of 
the  Lament  for  Bion. 

bairns  —  children.  maun  —  must. 

burnies  —  brooks.  meikle  —  much . 

cairns  —  heaps  of  stones.  paitrick  —  partridge. 

canty  —  merry.  rair  —  roar. 

cushat  —  wood-pigeon.  shaws  —  woods. 

e'en  —  eyes.  smiddie  —  smithy. 

eldritch  —  elfish.  starns  —  stars. 

houlets  —  owls.  studdie  —  anvil. 

hurcheon  —  hedgehog.  waukrif  e  —  sleepless. 

ilk,  ilka  —  each,  every.  whiddin1  —  skipping. 

lin  —  waterfall.  wimplm'  —  winding. 

maukins  —  hares.  woodie  —  rope,  halter. 

XVIII. 

This  song  occurs  in  Chatterton's  Tragedy  of  Ailla  (1769),  and  is  prob- 
ably oftener  quoted  than  any  other  portion  of  that  author's  works. 
gre  —  grow.        reytes  —  water-flags.         lethal  —  deadly,  fatal. 
Compare  the  second  stanza  with  Hamlet,  iv.,  v.,  189-193. 

XIX. 

Thanatopsis  was  first  published  in  the  North  American  Review  in  181 7, 
and  was  written  by  Bryant  when  in  his  eighteenth  year.  The  word  is 
from  two  Greek  words,  thanatos,  death,  and  opsist  view. 


INDEX. 


Acheron,  17,  31. 

Acis,  15. 

Actaeon,  146. 

Adonais,  113. 

Adonais,  135. 

Adonis,  16,  27. 

Adonis,  Lament  for,  19. 

aisle,  108. 

Albion,  72,  142. 

Alpheus,  92. 

Amaryllis,  90. 

Anapus,  15. 

Arcady,  67,  268. 

Ardeyn,  69. 

Arethusa,  17,  45,  47,  91,  92. 

Astrophel,  51. 

Astrophel,  66. 

Ausonian,  47. 

B. 

bale,  69. 

Banks,  Rev.  J.,  Translation  by,  21. 

battening,  88. 

Bayne,  Peter,  quoted,  276. 

bells,  105,  107,  141,  272. 

Bellerus,  93. 

Bereavement,  283. 

Bion,  29. 

Bion,  Lament  for,  37. 

boots,  90. 

Browne,  William,  287. 


Browning,  E.  B.,  Translation  by,  24. 
Bryant,  William  Cullen,  294. 
Brysket,  Ludovick,  65. 
Burns,  Robert,  289. 
Byron,  Lord,  145. 


Cain,  142,  147. 

Caius  Cestus,  150. 

Camus,  91. 

canker,  89. 

Chatterton,  Thomas,  149,  292,  300. 

Cinyras,  36. 

clarion,  106. 

clipped  locks,  35,  140. 

Collins,  William,  76,  281. 

Country    Churchyard,    Elegy 

written  in  a,  95. 
curfew,  105. 
Cymbeline,  74. 
Cymbeline,  Dirge  in,  76. 
Cypris,  16. 
Cytherea,  31. 


Damoetas,  88. 

Daphnis,  14. 

Daphnis,  The  Sorrow  of,  9. 

dear,  87. 

death,  a  sleep,  48. 

Death  and  Sleep,  273. 

dew,  140. 


301 


302 


INDEX. 


Diomed,  16. 
Dione,  36. 
Dirges,  280,  281. 

Dirge  for  Imogen,  73. 
Dirge  in  Cymbeline,  76. 
dolphins,  46. 
Dorian,  44,  45,  46. 
Dryden,  John,  283. 
due,  112. 

E. 

Echo,  40,  88,  141. 

eclipse,  91. 

Elegiacal  Poems,  277. 

Elizabeth  L.  H.,  Epitaph  on,  280. 

Epitaphs,  279,  280. 

evolution,  276. 


Falkland,  Lord,  204. 

fame,  90,  273. 

Fates,  90. 

Fauns,  88. 

flowers,  32,  33,  34,  93,  143. 

foil,  91. 

fretted,  108. 

Friends  Departed,  297. 

Fury,  88. 

G. 

Galatea,  47. 
Genius,  94. 
glebe,  107. 
Gray,  Thomas,  104. 
Gray's  Elegy,  95. 

H. 

Haemony,  67. 

hair,  141. 

halcyon,  46. 

Hales,  Rev.  J.  W.,  quoted,  96,  138. 

Hallam,  Arthur  Henry,  264,  266. 


hardie,  68. 
Helice,  17. 
Henderson,   Captain  Matthew,  Elegy 

on,  189,  300. 
Hermes,  16. 
Hesper,  276. 
Hester,  286. 
Hippocrene,  47. 
Hippotades,  91. 
Hunt,  Leigh,  147. 
Huntingdon,  Countess  of,  Epitaph  on 

the,  284. 
Hyacinth,  142. 
Hymen,  35. 

I. 

Ierne,  146. 

Imogen,  Dirge  for,  73. 
In  Memoriam,  151,  264. 
incarnation,  143. 


Jacobi,  quoted,  278. 
Jonson,  Ben,  279,  280. 

K. 

Keats,  John,  114,  135. 
King,  Edward,  78. 

L. 

Lamb,  Charles,  286,  299. 

Land  Dirge,  A,  281. 

Landor,  Walter  Savage,  282. 

Lang,  Andrew,  Translation  by,  39. 

laurel,  72,  86. 

let,  69. 

Longfellow,  Henry  W.,  264. 

Lucan,  149. 

Lycseus,  17. 

Lycaon,  17. 

Lycidas,  77. 

Lycidas,  86. 


INDEX. 


303 


M. 

MacDonald,  George,  quoted,  276. 

Maenalus,  17. 

Mahaffy,  J.  P.,  quoted,  18. 

make  (mate),  71. 

Margaret  Paston,  Epitaph  on,  283. 

Mary,  285. 

Meles,  47. 

Melpomene,  269. 

Memnon,  47. 

Milton,  John,  85,  138,  284. 

Mincius,  91. 

Minstrel's  Roundelay,  The,  292. 

Moore,  Thomas,  146. 

Moschus,  44. 

Muses,  14,  87,  89,  269. 

music,  48. 

myrtles,  86. 

N. 

Naeara,  90. 
Narcissus,  142. 
nightingales,  45, 142. 
nuptial  song,  36,  93. 


oaten  flute,  66,  88. 
CEagrian  maidens,  46. 
Oread  Nymphs,  31. 
Orpheus,  46,  48. 


Pagan  Epitaph,  A,  282. 

Pales,  72. 

Pan,  71,  268. 

Panope,  91. 

Parnassus,  269. 

Paston,   Mrs.  Margaret,  Epitaph  on, 

283. 
pastor,  67. 

Pastorall  Aeglogue,  A,  59. 
Pembroke,  Countess  of,  65,  298. 


Pembroke,    Countess    of,   Epitaph    on 

the,  279. 
Peneus,  15. 
Persephone,  32,  48. 
Phosphor,  266,  276. 
plaine,  67. 
poison,  43,  147. 
Priapus,  16,  46. 
prime,  68. 
provoke,  108. 
Pythian,  145. 


rage,  109. 

rathe,  93. 

recks,  92. 

reign,  106. 

Robertson,  F.  W.,  quoted,  152,  276. 

Rome,  139. 

Rose  Aylmer,  282. 

ryved,  69. 


salvage,  68. 

Satyrs,  88. 

scrannel,  92. 

Sea  Dirge,  A,  280. 

Severn,  John,  147. 

Severn  River,  267. 

shadow  of  death,  268. 

Shakespeare,  272. 

shatter,  86. 

Shelley,  P.  B.,  134. 

Shepherd's  Elegy,  The,  287. 

Sidney,  Sir  Philip,  50,  149. 

sightless,  143. 

Sleep  and  Death,  273. 

snake  Memory,  144. 

Soldiers'  Dirge,  281. 

Sorrow,  265,  272. 

sped,  92. 

Spenser,  Edmund,  64. 

spill,  68. 

St.  Peter,  92. 


304 


INDEX. 


Stella,  66, 70. 
stock,  67. 
stound,  69. 
stownd,  71. 
Strymonian,  45. 
swans,  45. 


Tennyson,  Alfred,  151,  263. 
tenor,  no. 

Thanatopsis,  294,  300. 
Theocritus,  13,  47. 

Thomson,  Catharine,    On  the  Relig- 
ious Memory  of,  284. 
Thymbris,  17. 
Thyrsis,  14. 

Thyrsis,  The  Song  of,  9. 
toyle,  69. 
Triton,  91. 
turtle,  47, 71. 


U. 


uncouth,  94. 


unexpressive,  93. 
upland,  in. 
Urania,  136,  269. 


Vaughan,  Henry,  298. 
Venus's  girdle,  32. 

W. 

Webster,  John,  281. 
weeds,  265. 
westering,  88. 
Wilde,  Robert,  279. 
Wolfe,  Charles,  286. 
Wolfe,  General,  107. 
wight,  67. 
words,  265. 

Wordsworth,  William,  283. 
wot,  67. 


y'drad,  68. 
yew-tree,  265. 


13 


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